That Which Does Not Die
by Silvernutbar
Summary: Time is funny. Years flew by as he came into his power, his duty, his destiny. All things however, have a beginning. Every hard days journey into night.. begins with a dawn.
1. It's a cold day

Author's notes and disclaimingness: This isn't EXACTLY a dawn of the dead fan fic, but it shares enough in common with the concept that it is being placed here. Eventually i'll pack all the chapters together and make them into a book I think. For now though this is the most appropriate place for them, despite what will happen later in the story, that some may not like so much.

Disclaimer wise: I didn't invent the idea of zombies. Nor did I invent dawn of the dead, which is the category this resides under. I do love the genre however, and truly enjoy the overall concept.

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It had been two years since everything had ended. It had been two years since the world had died. In that time all that remained was ashes, bitter tears, and the constant struggle to survive.

Things had not always been this way. The world had made sense once. There was a time when the nightmares stayed in their dark corners. A time when the mind of man did not write itself large upon the script that was everyday life. That time, now over, would come again. This was the steadfast hope of every single human being left alive in the after times.

People called it the apocalypse. Some called it justice. Still others referred to it as utterly ridiculous and insane. In many ways all of them were right.

The old world had fallen, in one week. That's all it had taken for everything everywhere to end. The first few days were utterly brutal. Savage street justice became the norm. The only law was the law of the hammer and gun.

I made my living in the shadows of the monsters that owned the world. The demonic former men and women of my race. Even the animals, the plants, the land itself had seeped downward into some shadow spawned version of itself. Mother earth, if such an entity truly exists, must weep inside her closet for the once beautiful world.

It wasn't all terror, and things that slither and refuse to die. Some of the remaining people had developed abilities. Minor talents really, but ones that had helped us survive. I for one suspect that the same force that brought nightmare into the living world had somehow dug deep into our psyche's and led us to a personal means of salvation. For good or ill it was here to stay and we had to deal with it.

My job in the past, even my name, are unimportant. What I have chosen to do now is the reality. I chose my trade and my name based on a dream I had while running from the horrors around me. A largely thankless job, but a necessary one. I was given a choice, and I chose.

They called the horrors many names. Zombie, walkers, stenches, and the risen were a few of them. My job was to cleanse the land of them, making it safe for the last remnants of my former race, and to free the afflicted from their cursed life.

an excerpt from the diary of the man known only as 'paladin'.

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THAT WHICH DOES NOT DIE

Scott awoke with a start his vision swirling. His alarm clock had buzzed rudely, as it did every morning. Shivering as the frosty mist escaped his lungs he wondered at why it had suddenly became so cold. True it was mid-winter, but he'd been up to date on his heating and electric bills, and had no issues with his thermostat of late. Wrapping himself tightly in his quilt he fiddled around until he found his sandals. He wore the ratty things even in the worst parts of winter, comfort being something he enjoyed. Besides, the floor was cold!

Shivering his way over to the door, Scott didn't yet hear what was going on just outside his humble frozen shack. He didn't hear the screams, and the half shrieked prayers as the biting wind and thick walls drowned out the world. In his half-drowsed stupor he knew nothing but his next step as he worked his way out of his bed room and slowly down to the basement seeking to understand why he had no heat.

Halfway down he remembered that he wanted to check out the news when he woke up. Rampant media images of ghastly rioters in halloween costumes the night before or some such. So, our intrepid arctic explorer made a pit-stop in the living room to turn on the tv. He tried to at least. A few quick presses and a short check to be sure it was plugged in later informed him that his power must be out.

He was baffled for a sleep-deprived moment until he recalled that his alarm clock was specially chosen for it's internal battery backup. He'd been late to work a few times because of black outs and hadn't wanted the same thing to keep happening. "Well the mystery of the missing heat is solved! Another case closed by.. Batman!" he exclaimed to himself while bringing his quilt up to mimic a cape and cowl his eyes taking on a squinty intense look. "Heh, glad no one was around to see that. No wonder I don't have a social life."

That little tidbit of geekdom out of the way our intrepid dark knight of the quilt worked his way into the kitchen and checked out his food supply. "Baking soda, a two liter of coca cola, and a turnip... where on god's green earth did I get a turnip?" With a little sigh of disappointment he knew he'd have to go to the store and get some groceries. Why he couldn't enjoy his first day off in two weeks was beyond him. Honestly, can't a guy look at internet porn in peace?

He spent the better part of half an hour shuddering his way into his clothes. A pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and his steel toed knee -high boots. The boots had garnered him a few snickers now and then, but he preffered them or his sandals. While he enjoyed his sandals, today was NOT a sandal day. He grabbed his leather jacket. A purchase made in his 'wish I was a tough guy.' phase. He couldn't afford a motorcycle, but at least he could look the part.

The last thing he snatched was his walking stick. A 'stick' that was really a steel reinforced curtain rod. A quite handy thing to have in a neighborhood full of drunks and dogs who got loose way too often. He grabbed his house keys and headed towards where his bike was parked. Sadly, it was a flea market special bicycle, as opposed to a Harley.

He slipped on the backpack he had draped over it. along with the required safety crap he hated, and then quite casually opened the front door to hell.

The very first things he noticed upon opening his door was that his eighty year old neighbor was quite decidedly gnawing on the intestines of his lady wife. Scott stared at this somewhat unusual sight for a moment and then did the only sensible thing a man can do when faced with an octogenarian eating his wifes entrails on your lawn. He ran back inside and threw up on his carpet.

"Oh man... oh man, ohmanohmanohman!" babbled the man as he backed away from it. He was quite decided that this could not be good. The civilized indoctrination of his brain determined that he had to call the police to report how his neighbor had decided to cannibalize his wife of forty years. His more primitive survival side was shrieking at the brainwashed societal side, but couldn't get through the haze of programming just yet.

Running to the phone Scott dialed 911 and got a busy signal. He looked up the sheriff's department in his phone book nearby, and got a messaging service. His mental fog began to lift after the fifth busy signal he got from 911 followed by a more traditional in times of crisis 'We're sorry all our operators are busy at this time. Please call again later.'

His haze lifting was of course sped up by the sudden shattering beating on his door. A pounding sound really, followed by angry moans. "Damn.." muttered the man, as he realized old Ed wanted another snack. Scott gripped his mighty curtain rod tightly and only then wondered if he'd bothered to lock the door in his haste to 'do the right thing.'

A sudden half rattle of the handle alerted him that he of course, had not. With spider webs of anxiety radiating up and down his spine, he knew he had to run over and lock the thing before old Ed came in and tried to chew on his more chewy parts.

Scott was half way to it, mid-run when ed apparently slid against it just right to pop it open. Ed was on him like a rabid badger within less than a second.

The much younger man fought with every ounce of his strength to keep the much smaller and supposedly more fragile man from tearing a hunk out of his throat. As precious seconds fled away old Ed did eventually sink his teeth into Scott. His leather jacket at least.

As the elderly cannibal of distinction worried his arm like a raging pit bull, the younger man balled his fist and punched the ancient freak as hard as he could in the temple. Considering their current position, this wasn't all that hard and Ed, for all his years only vaguely noticed. He was busy trying to gnaw off the hard coating over his sweet candy flesh center.

Scott wrestled the much stronger old fart around a little, trying to gain leverage. He was desperate to get his quickly fraying jacket away from the old geezer's maw before he broke through to his skin. The pain was already intolerable as he could feel his flesh compacting and his bones starting to fracture.

Slowly, with pain raging throughout his arm, he managed to finally rip his arm away and press the old man against the floor. His bucking and squirming was not gonna allow this for long though. Scott, tried initially to choke the old fart out, but despite a perfect rear naked choke the old guy wasn't budging. Precious minutes passed and a sound the young man most definately did not want to hear approached from the doorway. Ed's lady wife was apparently coming to help her husband with his dinner.

Like a well practiced line-backer Marlene tackled Scott with all the force and fury a zombified 60 year old housewife could muster. Ed and Marlene's marriage had been such the scandal back then. Him a fortyish old rascal and her a young buxom bar wench. Scott had the most absurd notion that probably just yesterday Marlene had probably whined at Ed about not doing enough as a couple.

Marlene nailed Scott on the shoulder with a vicious bite mid-tackle trying her best to worry her way through his jacket. Ed was quickly attempting to right himself in that precious moment.

Scott fueled by utter desperation rolled with the tackle and somehow launched Marlene passed him. Her attempts at gnawing his shoulder off lasting less than a second. As providence would have it our would be, if somewhat chunky, hero landed beside his curtain rod.

He gained his knees as he gripped his mighty rod and met Ed's brutal charge with a vicious slam to the gut and a quick leaping uppercut to the jaw, that broke the slowly rotting part easily. The old man flew backwards off his feet and laid still at least for the moment.

With no time to breathe Scott instinctively whipped his rod around to crack Marlene across the face with all the strength he could muster. She too went down, if only for the moment.

Loud wailing and agonized moans from outside emboldened our tiring young hero to run to the front door and attempt to lock it. Managing to just barely beat another trio of the creatures to the entrance and perform just that feat. Inwardly he was thankful beyond belief that he'd rented a building with no windows on the bottom floor. His friends called it a dungeon. He called it 'home.'

As the creatures outside pounded fruitlessly on his hard oak door, Scott glanced at the bodies of Ed and Marlene. It sickened him to do it, but all those years of watching late night horror movies told him he had to take care of them before they came around. Ed was already starting to get up.

Scott took a deep breathe and then his world fell to a pin-point of necessity. The sounds of steel-reinforced wood battering the skull of an undead eighty year old man half his size echoed throughout the room. They repeated themselves moments later with the man's dear lady wife.

Tears trickled slowly down the man's cheeks as he clutched his bloody instrument to him and made his way to first, his back door, and then his basement. He had to make sure both street entrances were locked.

Then, when all ways said and all was done, Scott sat in his easy chair. He gazed up at the ceiling and the tears no longer trickled. The tears came in rivers.

All around him he knew death stalked the streets. It was breaking into the homes of his neighbors and eating their children. Death was in his living room, and would soon need to be tossed out the upstairs window. Death was in his kitchen, and his one turnip.

Slowly though the tears dried up. The terror, the fear, the self recriminations of murder and survivors guilt faded. As the hours passed and the numbers of the former neighbors began to multiply outside his front door Scott found the strength to stand up. He found the courage to wash the blood from his hands, his staff, but not his mind.

Though tears did threaten they did not show up again. Death stalked the living now, wearing the face of his former friends and neighbors. It would be around every corner, in every dark place, in every unsecured door. Death was everywhere and even now in him. He knew what he must do to survive. He would do what it took to secure his furture. There was no choice save life or death, and. though death touched him, he must become.. that which does not die.

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Whelp! There we go for chapter one. By all means read and review. If you hate it utterly.. then good for you.. your criticisms will actually help me despite your meanieness. If meanieness were a word.


	2. Gittir Done

Sometimes, I look back on that first day when many of our worst nightmares had come true. I look back and wonder that I survived at all considering how recklessly I was forced to act. Back then there was no saving grace, no way to fight back. There was only survival with raw skill, determination, and strength.

Taking this into account I should have died. Yet, divine providence will not be denied. I survived, I gained a lot.. but like all the survivors..lost so very much.

Excerpts from the diary of the man known as paladin.

Chapter 2: Gittir Done

He finished the last of his turnip as he traced another line on his map. It had taken the rest of the day and a good portion of the night before he had felt his home to be secure enough against the ravenous corpses of his fellow tax statistics. Hastily shoved furniture had given way to calculated planning and hastily crafted tools from scavenged resources.

No matter how powerful the undead outside were, nothing short of a moderately powerful explosive device would allow them entrance. He knew all along that leaving his haven at street level would be suicidal. The alternative would be equally as foolish, but for entirely different reasons.

Scott, finished up his drawings on the map, and took notes. His escape route was settled on, along with two alternate courses. He felt planning beyond that would lead to too much distraction and doubt would settle in.

Immediate concerns lead him towards the acquisition of needed survival materials, and equipment. Food would have to be gathered along the way, as well as better weapons and weapon crafting materials. Despite the well fortified walls of his nigh impregnable fortress, the lack of food and water were going to kill him in another day or two. His soda wet his tongue, but would only serve to make dehydration symptoms worse later. He'd already eaten the damned turnip and wasn't quite willing to attempt eating the baking soda.

A quick inventory of all his materials and supplies lead him to create a hasty pile of junk and crap in the middle of his upstairs hallway. Bits and pieces of things from his renfaire days, a half stocked sewing kit, a few spare batteries, a pair of flash lights, one regular the other the shake light variety that was annoying if useful, some fishing tackle and a reel. The rod was sadly going to be left behind. He could only carry so much on foot, and space along with weight would be a major issue. He had a small handful of useful things like nylon cord and tape, along with a box of the good kind of matches. His supplies though, were critically short.

He also made sure to pack his last hundred bucks. Money was probably going to be useless now, but at leas he'd have something to try and use as a fire starter or last ditch effort toilet paper.

Unlike the roleplaying games he loved so much, his brief stint in the military years ago had taught him the truth about lugging crap around in a backpack. While for short distances less than a mile, a lot less and forget going up hills or climbing stairs, he could carry almost his body weight as long as it was well balanced and distributed. He just didn't have the physical capacity to do more than that.

A far more manageable load of about fifty pounds was his target weight. He rough marched twelve miles with that much gear several times, and always in under three hours. That much weight and at that rate of speed would tear his feet up though. He would be taking a much slower, more methodical, approach to traverse the hellish landscape outside.

He planned to travel roughly twenty miles total on foot, with plan A. Scott would face a thirty seven mile route in plan B, and if all things fail a much shorter trip with plan C. Plan C though was far more desperate in that it would take him perilously close to the middle of the neighboring city. The longer safer routes were preferred. He had determined to take roughly four days doing it too.

While even before the army he had walked twice that far in a single day on a few occasions, without any extra weight, he was dead set against pushing it. There was no rush, no hurry. He had no where specific he had to be, only a journey he was forced to take. He wouldn't get too far with a twisted ankle, broken leg, or massive blisters.

His planning was done. His gear assembled. All that was left was the finishing touches on his hastily crafted body armor. His leather jacket had been reinforced with a few metal pieces he'd ripped out of various appliances, some cloth from cut up clothes, a well worn set of elbow pads, and some crudely woven copper wire braids from the cords of those same pieces of his former life, along with whatever wire he could dig out of his walls. It looked a bit ratty despite it's solid construction. It was bulkier, heavier, and overall more encumbering, but would hopefully last longer and protect better. He'd sown tiny metal parts into his gloves, but didn't finish them yet.

He'd worked on the beginnings of some kind of protective headgear, but had been finding difficulty getting good parts. His legs and feet also had similar issues, until he'd found his old steel toed work boots. A little heavy after some moderate reinforcement around the ankle and achilles tendon area, but necessary.

Eventually, he'd settle on cutting up a lot of his other jean pants. Then he mixed together some weaving and sowing skills to make a hideous looking but effective and snag free pair of pants. He cut away the knee area, and the back of said knee was left critically thin for maneuverabilty. In the place of fabric, he inserted a set of knee pads he had from long ago. He'd eventually added a set of suspenders and made sure they were well attached. He had fears that the bulky material might decide to slip around and he didn't want to be pulling his pants up every three steps while running for his life.

Scott had patched together a helmet out of random tid bits of cloth, some tin strips he'd pried off of the boards under his carpet, fitted in a way that they layered against randomly sewn together chunks of his old football and basketball. It would protect a little, but he still wished he could find something better. His face was covered by a bit of blue quilting he'd attached to his makeshift cap. Some of his fish hooks had been taped together and the hooks bent in a curved slightly to act as a latch. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.

His final bit of crafting had to do with weaponry. Scott obviously added his survival knife to his belt since it would be immensely useful and had it's own belt loop. Beyond that he had been momentarily at a loss. His curtain rod had been useful, but it took a lot of force and desperate energy to take one of these things out with the thing. The wood was pine and the only reason it had served at all was the metal reinforcing the inside.

The length had been perfect downstairs, but on the run it might become cumbersome. He eventually solved his issue by using a hacksaw from his basement to cut the weapon into four section. Two of these he attached to a piece of chain, to make a weapon he'd used in martial arts classes when he was younger, but would probably not be all that useful against zombies. Other humans though.. well they'd feel the pain.

One of the pieces he simply attached to his backpack. It would be a spare handle for later. The final one he drilled a few holes in, cringing the entire time the drill was going due to the noise that was definitely going to attract the roving hordes that hadn't come by yet. He attached a promising piece of metal to it that was at one time a replacement blade for some kind of farming implement. It would have in happier times helped to till soil. He had 'found' it on the side of the road on the way home one day. Sure it was just across the ditch from a farmhouse and it's neighboring as yet untilled stretch of dirt, but no one had shot at him so he'd figured it was his due to salvage rights.. right? He'd liked it due to how it look like a curving piece of wavy axe blade.

All the while he made his armor and weapons, solidly constructed despite looking straight ghetto, he avoided the what ifs and whys. The little voices that should have been sniping at his sanity, driving him to madness. He'd kept busy to avoid worry and fear. Any who saw him might say "Now there's a guy that's determined to live! I tell ya what!" To be honest though, despite all the planning, all the crafting and desire to live. He did not do all these things for only survival. He did them so he wouldn't cower in a corner somewhere hugging his knees and wait to starve to death.

His armor might fall apart, his weapons break, or any number of things when he slipped out later tonight. Till then though he'd plan to survive. He'd plan to live. He could rely on no one else to help him. His family lived far away and despite how he loved them, he was in no condition to try and go to them yet.

He'd called a few times only to get no answer before the cell grid went down. Amazing how little time that took really. He'd thought much of it had been more automated than that.

All of his gear was fashioned assembled and weighed on the bathroom scale. He'd actually travel slightly lighter than he'd set out for. His armor and all his weapons and minimal supplies came up to just a little over forty-eight pounds. Evenly distributed over his body as best he could caused it to feel manageable.

Scott took one more thorough check of his defenses, and then blocked off his down-stairs access. He leaned at an angle away from his window blinds at the corners checking on the horde below. He was able to count at least thirty of them milling around out there, with some wandering slowly away and others wandering slowly up. He quirked his left eyebrow and took a breath before removing his gear and settling it into the corner for an attempt at rest. He had scheduled himself to leave a few hours before dawn. Right now it was six hours till check out time.

The young man made a half hearted smile after a brief thought of his mother crossed his mind. Her constant enjoyment of a particular comedian flittered through his mind while he gazed at the armor in the corner. "Gittir Done."


	3. Living on the edge

I want to thank glocap for the review. Don't worry I have plenty of story left to go. Here's chapter three for all your viewing enjoyment. .

Chapter 3: living on the edge.

His eyes darted back and forth carefully into the moon-lit area below the window. It was a full moon night. The kind of night that would be a blessing as well as a curse. He wasn't sure what perverse sense inside him convinced him that leaving tonight was absolutely necessary. It had been the same niggling feeling that had helped him overcome his growing horror to make his plans.

The escape plan was simple, if absurdly dangerous. It would require a great deal of stealth, discipline, and personal courage. On some level he was fairly certain that he was utterly doomed. The rest of him simply shrugged and checked the window again. He had been moving back and forth for the last hour. The indiglow night-light on his watch flashing into existence to tell him the time at his discretion. He had a feeling of utter certainty that he had to leave no later than the time he'd chosen. He couldn't explain it, but it was an omnipresent buzzing inside his mind. Similar in its way to a telemarketer who would not stop calling.

He counted the numbers outside the window one more time, noting the count had not changed. They hadn't gone around back yet, unless one of them suddenly learned how to climb a fence. With the time for departure fast approaching Scott wandered over to the hallway and entered the room across the hall. "It's time to make the doughnuts..I guess.. or something...heh, man this sucks."

Scott made sure the head of his axe was well wrapped in cloth, and nothing had come loose. The last thing he needed at this juncture was something to rattle and bang out his presence for all the would be tax auditor's below. Ravenous hungry beasts indeed.

He slowly climbed out the window to stand on the smallish ledge beyond. He stayed perfectly still. His breathing slow and light. Not a sound, not a whisper escaped him as he waited to see if they'd heard his first steps into this brave new hell hole.

The tiny little fence blocking off his alley way would only last seconds, if they felt the need to come get him. Not that it would be hard to catch him, if he actually managed to land on the ground. The fall would most likely kill him anyway.

The plan only had a chance of success because of one simple factor. The power was off.

Scott glanced over at the power lines trailing across the alley way. The building he lived in, and the one next door used to be part of some kind of storage company. The building he lived in was a small warehouse, thus the lack of windows on the ground floor and the better than average strength doors. A fact that had kept him alive till now.

Next door was the management building, the office. This warehouse he called home was not exactly what you'd call up to code. The owner had rent it out to him and he'd quickly made it inhabitable. They had to keep his actually living there an 'open secret'. There were very few people who lived in the neighboring area. In fact Scott was fairly certain almost all of them were hanging out in front of his yard.

He glanced at the power-lines connecting the buildings. This was the most critical part. He'd done it in basic training but then he'd been unencumbered and wearing only his uniform. To get across to the neighboring building would require Scott to clamber onto the lines and use them as a two rope bridge and walk across. He had repeatedly fallen off the single rope in basic before crossing, but he hadn't fallen off the two rope. It was his abject hope that such things could occur again.

He'd have to be swift about it as well. The lines weren't perfectly taut and would sway while making noises the lurking corpses might hear.

With a deep slow breath Scott began inching his way over to the lines. It took him several agonizing minutes to do so silently. He wanted to make absolutely certain that he kept his noise to a minimum before this started. He covered his watch and checked the time carefully. fourty-five minutes before his distraction would go off. He was running out of time. If he wasn't across the alley and nearing the other side of the third building over when it started, he might end up trapped on a roof.

Scott gripped the top line praying all the while that it would bear his weight. He was obviously bigger than a pigeon or those little crows that sat around squawking all day. Mentally he recited a little mantra about how he must trust the plan, the plan was good, the plan was all. Then, he placed one foot on the slowly swaying bottom rope and winced as he fell backwards slightly.

His muscles trembling and nerves shot, Scott gritted his teeth and leaned away while pulling. Slowly allowing the line to balance out an he began the slow slide across. A crackling of rubber and metal greeted his every move. The sound of the rusty hookups holding the lines against the wall beginning to strain reached his ears when he was at the halfway point.

The sound he liked the least though was the increasingly loud moaning he heard. The zombies around front might have heard him, or might simply be getting restless. Eitherway if one of them got smart enough to knock over the little fence he'd be in for it. High above them he might be safe. However, he didn't know if the office next door was cleared of them. He assumed all the buildings were death traps. Still the office was his first stop due to how the manager kept a stocked fridge and a few cans of 'treet meat' on hand. His stomach would whine and whimper, but eventually concede to the need to devour this noxious confectionary delight.

The building had been broken into a few times so old James the manager had put in steel bars and reinforced the door with an iron grated screen. When Scott got inside he'd secure the area, and then snatch all the food he could in the brief few minutes he could alot himself. The distraction would draw every undead within a quarter mile to his house easily, but at the same time if they were all there and he was not then it was alright with him.

The moans grew in intensity and he could hear some light rattling against the fence. They weren't sure yet but some suspected food was right around the corner obviously.

Scott moved quicker, his pace at the limit his stability and endurance would safely allow. To get anxious and go faster would be a deadly mistake. He had less than five feet left to go anyway.

The rattling at the fence grew louder, more purposeful by the moment and then just as he was stepping onto the neighboring ledge, the zombies began shrieking. The fence rattling soon gave way to metallic ripping sounds as Scott raised the window. He could hear them begin to run down the concrete alleyway as he slipped inside. He'd know soon if any of them saw him.

Before he could worry about that though, he had to move swiftly away from the window. He needed to secure every room up on this floor, and then head down-stairs to make sure the lower level was secure. He had just over half an hour to do all this and be in the supply tunnel under the building.

Starting with the closest room, the actual office, Scott noticed with a sense of alarm that there was a little blood splatter on the floor in front of the office. The kind of splatter one gets from dragging something bloody along the floor.

He unwrapped his axe and tied the cloth around his left arm to keep it secured for future use. His weapon in hand and his heart racing Scott gently pushed the door open. Immediately he noticed two things. A low mumbling static and a large-ish form sprawled in a corner behind the desk.

Noting no movement as yet, Scott gently closed the door and risked turning on the flashlight he'd taped to the side of his helmet. Careful in how he moved his head lest a casual flicker of light alert anything outside the room, Scott inspected the little area. Old James was quit dead, The blood congealed and dried around him combined with the obvious eruption on the top of his head, had shown that he'd spent at least one round of his precious .45 on himself. Poor old fart had a thing for the gun ever since he'd seen dirty hairy. Often he'd joke with Scott about how the young man might find the ladies, but he was the one with the big gun.

Now old James was just another story without a happy ending. From what Scott could discern James had listened to news reports and simply given up.

Scott spent several precious seconds staring at the gun. It would be a gamble to take it. Beyond even the immediate disturbing nature of using a weapon someone had committed suicide with was the very real nature of such weapons. They were loud and needed fresh ammo.

He took it of course, but made sure it was cleaned off, and unloaded the last three rounds. While he was doing this he noticed a telltale bite on James' left shoulder. He had raised his estimation of the man slightly then. He had already died long before he committed suicide and the man had realized that. He fished around briefly in James' desk drawer and found his ammo box. He had twelve rounds total. Scott would save them for a special occasion.

He left the room as quietly as he had entered after turning his flashlight off. The red lens he'd been using took only a minute or two off his night vision, but it would still be a problem if he had to keep doing that.

He checked the closet Finding nothing of interest except another box of matches. A box he collected before locking the door. The last room on the second floor had proven to be equally empty.

Scott headed towards the door to the stairwell, his watch telling him a horrible truth. He was running out of time.

Downstairs had proven to be dead zombie central as Scott came to a halt at the sight of at least twelve dead bodies. The front door was closed and the metal shutters drawn over the windows. The lack of an appropriate light source made it difficult to check but most of these bodies were neighboring people with minimal wounds besides the massive head trauma. Old James had probably been working on something early and saw what happened. He'd of tried to help people and the end result was probably several of them turning and attacking the uninjured. Eventually he'd made it up stairs, but not before his life had effectively ended.

Scott new he had only a hand full of minutes left to do what he had to before his block would be crawling with the undead. So he finished checking the bodies to make sure they were more than deadish and entered the main lounge room to check on provisions and cannibal corpses.

He was fairly certain that he wouldn't find more than one or two zombies at most, considering how old James hadn't even locked his door. Any zombies would have been all over him otherwise.

As he suspected the lounge was clear. The fridge, thankfully, was not. Scott snapped up two packs of bologna, another soda, some chips and a wedge of cheese. No bread though. James hadn't liked bread considering how he had troubles with regularity. It had always seemed strange to the young man that the old fella would have cheese in his fridge with the excuse he used for not having bread.

To his surprise, however, he didn't find a single can of treet meat in the cabinets. This was quite possibly even stranger than the dead rising up to eat the living.

He glanced down at his watch and noted eight minutes left. He quickly cleared the bathroom, finding only one dead body with a crushed skull. It had been propped up on the toilet as pretty as you please.

He left the bathroom and locked the door. Everything in the building was secure. Except the entrance to the service tunnel. About eight of the buildings here on this little slice of town were all interconnected due to the storage company also being a shipment corporation. Often they'd have to move stuff from one location to another, and private tunnels were easier to deal with than the traffic on the main road nearby.

The tunnel lead a quarter mile away to the main warehouse. There should be no problem making noise down there, but he would have to move as swift and silently as possible before time ran out. The tunnel had a few street level entrances, and the last thing he needed was to be trapped in a small tunnel with creatures that can run at olympic athlete speeds, maybe faster.

Scott entered the tunnel, and turned on his light. Side streets be damned, he wasn't wandering down a perfectly dark tunnel blindly. About four minutes into his light jog into darkness up above him on the streets a blaring wail of utter most horror echoed shrilly into the neighboring area. A sound so vile and disturbing that no sane creature would be able to withstand it's terrors and nightmarish qualities. The zombies of course, having no taste for music any long did not care and began streaming to the origin of the sound in all their rotting hordes. Though someone who saw a few of the more heavy metal looking of the dead would imagine an actual emotion etching itself on their rotting faces.

Inside Scott's former home anyone who cared to look could see a stereo system hooked up to a car battery. Had this imaginary person known that the owner had no car and rode a bike, he might have asked why he had one in his house. No one did know or see of course but that is beside the point. As Scott made his escape underground The words 'I don't wanna wait..! For our lives to be ooooover.." Were blaring over and over as the Dawson's Creek sound track kept looping repeatedly until the old battery finally died hours later. Should the imaginary person who might have viewed all this have ever ran into Scott and asked him about his musical interests, the young man would of informed them that he had found it when he moved in. He obviously was too hardcore for such things.

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End of chapter three. Reviews are always appreciated! In the next installment we'll have a few combat scenarioes so never fear... excessive violence is here!


	4. slow ridin blues

My apologies for taking so long, in adding the next chapter. At anyrate here it is, and as always feel free to review!

The three things one needed to survive the long night that fell upon the world are all easily acquired. Supplies, desire to survive, and when possible lots and lots of booze.

An excerpt from the unauthorized biography 'A knight's tale." written three hundred years after the death of the man known as 'Paladin.'

Chapter 4 Slow windin blues..

Scott sat under the roof shed's comforting metal awning. He spent this time feeling the early morning pre-dawn breeze. It had taken him a few hours to work his way along that corridor and barricade the warehouse below. The young man was more than a little surprised that his major injuries were mostly bruises, and a few flesh wounds from being slammed against sharp metal containers.

The fact that he had survived against so many of the reanimated dead and not become one of them was a thing of outright confusion and a niggling feeling of pride. Certainly he hadn't fought them all at once, but he'd faced down over fourteen of the monsters in the space of an hour.

He'd barely avoided having nearly twice that number rampage all over his exhausted ass, but almost was good enough. The storehouse below was barricaded though, the zombie population outside the walls and doors had tripled in the last hour or so. It didn't matter though, as soon as he rested, he was going to open the water gate and swipe one of the company mini-barges. The nearby river had been a perfect transport system back in the company's heyday, Before other people had started moving in and ruining things. A small family down river, for instance, put in a waterwheel about eight years ago. They didn't need it, they had no use for it, but the owners thought it looked darling. This had effectively blocked the movement of cargo due to the narrowness of the river at the area.

The storage firm had been trying to make them remove it legally ever since, but they had no real way to do that. The family's property line was on the other side of the river, and since they owned an acre or so on both sides, the river was considered their's as far as that spot in between.

The mini-barges were about to be sold at auction next week, but then the world had gone to hell.

Scott gazed up at the clouds in the early morning sky, letting his worries pass through one side of his mind and back out the other. Thoughts of the struggle that had ensued earlier flittered through his head. Things that he could have done better, ways things could have gone worse.

---

six hours earlier...

He panted for breath, lungs burning as he continued his moderately paced run down the corridor. Scott was halfway through the tunnel already and his red flashlight beacon gleamed against the perpetual darkness. He knew this would be the riskiest portion of his escape plan bar none. There was no safe spot to retreat to quickly, no way to seperate the dead from him besides an unrelenting forward drive to his goal.

None had shown up yet, but he knew the first outer access ramp was coming up. If James had been lazy as usual and not locked the doors here, then this would be a very long , or incredibly short, run indeed.

The possibility was why he'd set off his stereo plan. He was rapidly leaving the area of it's influence though, and that would be the critical difference.

He ran up and slowed to a stop at the first intersection. The animal instinct part of him had said keep running. The reasoning thinking animal part of him said clear the area and make sure the door is locked. Any other random parts of him, besides the one that is always voicing it's opinion in any manly lifestyle, kept silent. As to the talkative part he made a mental note to get laid as soon as the apocalypse took a breather. Zombies first, random poonage later. Well, if anymore poonage existed.. he wasn't particularly into the alternative.

He slowly made his way along the corridor access tunnel to check the door. It was really a metal shutter with an internal cross-brace. The brace prevented anyone outside from manually or electronically opening the door. This particular one had a pair of smallish flexi-glass windows on it for some reason he could never understand.

Scott took a quick look at every and sighed in relief as he noticed this door was at least secured. He checked out the window and was a little concerned with how the waning moonlight was shining upon several wobbling human-ish forms. His little diversion had either stopped working, or didn't reach this far.

At anyrate, he about faced and moved out along the corridor back-tracking to his former location and heading onward. The next service ramp was not too far away and with a certain knowledge that there were at least a few of those rotting buggers about he had to be doubly sure the last ones were locked.

He'd gotten halfway to the second door when he heard the first shuffling. His nerve racked senses went into over drive as he slowed himself down and listened intently. His light was going to be a dead give away if these things had working eyes. He wasn't sure how they hunted, or even moved for that matter, but he wondered at just how likely they were to still see with those dead eyes.

The shuffling increased a little as he calmly, well for this situation at least, worked his way forward, his hand going to his axe, so that it was held in a strong dual grip. The moment of truth was here.

He got to the next intersection and swiftly spun around to face whatever horrors he might find. His flashlight slashing ruthlessly through the dark interior attempting to search out the unseen. He was confused at first, having found nothing. He walked further down the corridor and still nothing.

The shuffling was getting louder now, but he had seen no sign of anything. Upon reaching the door he found it to be locked and no zombies outside stirring about, at least at this door.

The shuffling grew louder and began to turn into solid steps and then soft moans. It was then that Scott realized his error. The dead hadn't been down the corridor. Underground tunnels and caves were notorious for misleading people through sound, and in this case had lead him into a dead end. His flashlight wheeled around to cast a light down the corridor just in time to see the first living corpse.

He noticed oddly in this few seconds before all hell broke loose that in fact they didn't see the light. It was shining right on the first zombie, an older looking man of thinly boned structure. It wasn't until his biological need to breathe kicked in that they reacted.

Shrieking in unholy fury the lead zombie spun towards Scott's location and with unerring accuracy raced towards him hands outstretched in the parody of a lover racing towards it's love.

Scott's only response was to heft his axe, narrow his eyes, and say, "Come get some." There hadn't been much else to do. Opening the door to try and flee outside would have been suicidal. There was no time, and an unknown number of those things out there.

With all the fury his shaking limbs could muster Scott caught the old man with his makeshift axe hard on the shoulder, smashing him brutally down onto the floor. It took the man mearly seconds to try and regain his footing, but by then Scott was already Swinging for a second time his heavy blade slamming down with a strong fluid motion to slam into it's skull easily cracking it like an egg.

Scott didn't have it so easily with the next one though, because as he lifted his axe to try and face the new threat, said threat was already barreling into him. Struggling mightily for his life as the man was taken clear off his feet, Scott once again found himself wrestling a much stronger opponent on the ground. His ears were filled with his own screams of anger and outrage to the point that he could not hear the other two much farther away swiftly moving up.

The zombified shopping clerk attempting to gnaw him had been one of the more attractive blondes over at the local kwik stop. She was perky, upbeat, and easily mislead by handsome aggressive men. Typical of many young beautiful females. Had he the time to notice or care Scott might have read the tag on her torn shirt that read, "Nikki"

Now, however, she was about the worst date any guy could imagine. She smelled like road kill, had bad teeth, looked like a rotting ham, and was definitely too clingy and needy. She most definitely needed something that Scott had, but sadly for her here was another jerk who was about to break her heart. Literally.

Catching himself beginning to turn over on his back Scott knew immediately he had to act. If he wound up on his belly this would be over in seconds.

He performed the riskiest maneuver he could think of and literally shoved his arm up into 'Nikki's' face, causing the hungry undead clerk to immediately begin gnawing and worrying at it like a dog with a new pair of shoes.

He bit back his frustrated screams and used the new leverage to roll the zombie girl over and ruthlessly slam his fist into her chest over and over with all the force he could muster snapping her ribs on the second strike, and driving them in much farther on the third. Though the zombie was stronger her defenses were weak and bones brittle.

While crushing her heart into little pieces wasn't his main objective it allowed him to do the most disturbing thing he could think of. The monsters arms were not moving nearly as well as before, leading him to believe that they did have physical limitations after all. His own arm feeling like it was getting ready to tear off and the pressure unbearable, the man reached down with the freehand to unsheathe his survival knife.

He didn't have a clear shot at her skull and fearful that she might bite his face, if he tried to stab her forehead, or worse miss and stab himself, Scott did the next best thing. He took aim at her unprotected neck and stabbed ruthlessly into it. The stab shifted into a sawing motion as the desperate man began working the reverse side of his blade, the serrated edge, against muscle sinew and bone. It took precious seconds and his next opponents were turning the corner, but the man was able to use the zombies own desperate gnawing on his arm to his advantage and help rib her head free of her body.

To his disgust the head kept gnawing, but with much less strength. A quick disturbing flick of his wrist later lead to the head hurtling down the corridor to slap harmlessly into the approaching zombie's stomach.

With a low growl Scott picked up his axe, and prepared to face the oncoming cannibal corpses...

_,,,Back in the present..._

Scott snapped out of his reverie as his watches digital alarm went off. He'd set it to give him four hours of rest after he'd cleaned out the area. Well not counting the zombies outside. It was time to finish loading up and go.

After shimmying down the roof ladder, and cautiously checking all the entrances he'd sealed off, Scott wandered towards the docking area passing by a small platform with at least six dead zombies crushed and splattered in random locations by a gore encrusted multi-ton metal container.

He stood there a moment gazing at his handiwork and sighed. "Man I can't believe that worked.."

A little over five hours ago he'd been chased around this warehouse by nearly a dozen of the undead monstrosities. He'd whittled their numbers down by hit and run tactics, until he'd spotted an insane chance to take the last of them out with the remnants of his fleeting strength.

He'd barely had time to scurry up the side ladder, leading to the one thing that could save him, besides any divine intervention. Luckily there had been gas left in the mini-crane they used to hoist boxes onto the barges, and he'd used it to clear out most of the remaining zombies. Some lazy foreman had allowed his guys to leave without securing the container, much to Scott's joy. He's used it to great effect. One or two of them had managed to make it to his ladder and were hard to hit with the box. He eventually settled on simply lowering it down on top of them carefully. The end result was crushed zombies being slowly destroyed while feebly clawing at the ladder in front of them.

Scott shook his head and went to the barge, making certain all his gear was stowed. The little craft was only about as long as your average school bus, and a little over twice as wide but it could haul a few tons of material up and down the river at a time.

With the morning sun barely peaking over the horizon, Scott finished filling up the diesel drums, he had scrounged. He had enough food for about two days, and enough diesel to run his little barge for a month. He wasn't sure when it would go bad, But he figured if he stirred it every so often it might last longer. Honestly though, he would be surprised is his supply didn't turn bad in under a years time.

Either way, it would be a moot point if his next stop was his last. Even more to the point his current final destination might not work out. He planned on journeying down the river to a small grocery store about ten miles outside of town. It was on a small little islet with a quaint little bridge attaching it to the bank. The place was sufficiently out of the way that it would serve as a stocking point. Though it was nominally a grocery store, the customers were mainly fisherman and it had a decent trade in bait and supplies.

The food would be nice, but the supplies were what he was really after. He'd need them to be reasonably self sufficient if the lake house he was going to still lacked ownership. It would be the perfect hideaway spot. Few new about it, the owners had died some time ago and the place was in a bit of disrepair. The good thing about it though, was that it was on a small island in the middle of the lake, and the only way on or off had been by boat. There was a small orchard, and a few wild edible plants that were the remnants of the old garden they'd had. Sadly most of the animals had been taken away. Well good for the animals possibly, but bad for his desire for fresh meat.

The thing he liked most about the lake house was that it had a tend foot wall surrounding it, with a steel gated front door, and easy access to the lake via a side pier. The barge would fit quit nicely inside the shed there. Yeah it would be perfect. This was why he doubted no one stayed there though. The existence of the house wasn't common knowledge to anyone but local fisherman, but it was more than likely at least one of them survived and had a few family members with them there.

With the sun rising into the sky, Scott finished his prep and took a deep breath before firing up the barge. The moment the engine roared to life the moans outside turned into angry and hungered screeches. He really hoped the buggers couldn't swim, the water near the warehouse was only twelve feet deep.

With a sigh he proclaimed, "Onward... to adventure... or some shit like that." and began moving into the river.


	5. The trouble with kids today

No one knows what gave him the strength to persevere. Day after day he had struggled, and toiled. Still, despite him never having been known to have a child of his own, for some reason he always seemed to take extra special care to protect any children he ran across.

It was a strange sight, seeing such a hard man grow soft and protective. I'd seen him face down tyrants and goblinkin, devil ragers and would be bandit kings without batting an eyelash. Put a crying kid in front of him, though, and he acted like a pile of mush.

An excerpt from one of the rare interviews with the Magus Darren Black, one time enemy, and eventual companion to the 'man' known as Paladin.

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Chapter 5: The trouble with kids today.

The sun beat down mercilessly on him as he slowly rode against the flow of water on the small river. Even though it was winter, the powers that be had chosen that day to be the hottest winter day in record. Scott would not know this of course due to his lack of any kind of knowledge of the whereabouts of the supposedly still existent human race.

He did know that if he could not find a place to get out of the sun soon, his heavily padded makeshift armor would probably cause him sweat to death. He'd run through half his meager water supply already.

Scott set the barge to continue forward on its own for the twelve mile stretch coming up and decided to go check the cargo to make sure nothing had shifted.

While nothing had happened directly, several zombies had periodically shown up on the bank to scream and moan at him. They all eventually were passed by. It was still an eerie feeling since this was the first time he'd truly gotten the chance to appreciate their appearance. Before he'd always been running attempting to stay one step ahead. There had been no time for zombie sight seeing.

"Hmm.. nothing's out of the ordinary.. heh." he said softly to himself, after checking the tie-straps for the tenth time that day. He then glanced down at his watch and nodded. It was time for a little lunch. At least that was something to do that might take his mind off the hot suit he was in.

An hour later he was making a course correction so that he'd be able to enter the tributary that lead off to that grocery store slash bait and tackle shop when he noticed something peculiar. There was a small boat in the middle of the river. The kind with an outboard motor, that people took on small lakes to fish.

It was nothing fancy, and would usually only serve to be a distraction. The peculiar thing was that it seemed to have a body on it. A small body. A body that would be within easy jumping distance in less than a minute.

His conscience and his intellect warred with each other. Obviously a child even from this distance, he was torn trying to decide whether to check the kid or leave it here. The current had carried the little boat this far towards the main river, but who knew whether the occupant was alive, dead, or other.

Scott sighed mentally. He wasn't a bad guy, but he knew this was trouble. Still, his conscience won out even as his intellect drew his hand consciously to the axe he'd fashioned.

When he came up to the boat he steeled himself, but there was no immediate leaping to the feet. No blood curling scream of the damned.

What he did hear was a softly whimpered, "mummy."

Unless the zombies had developed a family social structure and the ability to talk, this was not a zombie. Well, so it seemed.

Scott stood there and waited. His barge started to drift past and he still waited. His intellect and his heart warring with each other. As the barge began to pull away he gazed back at the little girl.

The young man looked away, then up to the clear blue sky and sighed. He'd hate himself for this in the morning. "Dammit..", he whispered to himself. His engines came to a full stop and began the slow backpedal process as they weren't designed for speed in reverse. Hell they weren't designed for speed when moving forward.

He took one of the boat hooks stored near the front of the barge. An item normally used to remove the occasional floating debris and such that clogged the river or to pull the barge into the dock more fully without risking a sharp forward movement from the engine.

The small boat was drawn towards him, and he tied it at the back of the barge with a bit of rope. The girl, since he figured that's what she was now, didn't wake up this entire time. How long had she been out here.

Scott briefly checked her over for bites as best he could without removing her clothes. He just couldn't make himself do that.. it'd be creepy and weird. Had she been like sixteen or so at least.. hehe.. no wait, bad thoughts.. bad thoughts, bad creepy old man thoughts.

There was no visible blood on her that he could see. It would be easily discovered considering the somewhat stained but still pretty white dress she was wearing. It kind of reminded him of the sort of thing a flower girl at a wedding might wear.

The young man picked her light frame up and brought her on-board his mini-barge. She looked like she could use a little food and water. Honestly, she looked like she could use a lot of water. How long had she been out here?

Scott steadied his course again and set the barge into its slow forward motion. He could have probably walked to the store by now, but he wouldn't complain. The barge could move faster, but he saw no need to waste either the fuel or the noise to do so. As it was, it barely made a sound as it glided on it's way.

He spent a few moments arranging the little girl in something he figured would be comfortable, and then opened a new water jug. This would be her personal jug. He didn't know where she'd been or truly if she was indeed bit or worse anywhere. So the idea that she might infect him with even a simple cold was hard pressed into his mind.

Besides, with her own water jug he couldn't make her sick either.

He worked her tiny mouth open and began pouring a tiny trickle. He didn't want to risk too much as that might choke her. The little girl's eyes fluttered open a moment later and when they settled on our hero she did the only sensible thing a little girl could do when confronted with the image of a blood spattered man in makeshift armor pouring some unknown substance down her throat.

Scott sniffed a little and then blinked. "Oh no way.. you better be potty trained kid cuz I ain't changing any diapers.."

The little girl just stared at him wide eyed, shaking a little. Tiny tears began to form at the edge of her eyes. Scott groaned inwardly. What the hell man.. zombies he could handle.. but crying little girls would be the death of him. He just knew it.

----------------

She didn't know what to do. She was stuck on a boat with a crazy man. He had to be a nutcase right? All strangers were insane weirdoes who wanted to give her candy and make her ride in their car. That's what mummy had said, and mummy was always right!

She thought back to all the times her mummy had been right. There was the time that she'd been told that too many sweets would give her a tummy ache. They had. She'd been told not to play with the pretty little flying bug because it would sting her. It did. She'd been told not to do all sorts of things because she'd get hurt. Mummy had always been right.

So, now she was stuck in a boat with a crazy man who would offer her candy and then make her ride in his car. She wasn't so sure what was so wrong with either thing, but mummy had acted like it was really bad to go with strangers, and they didn't come much stranger than this guy. Who ever heard of someone wearing such a thing in this heat anyway!

He had a funny accent, and he smelled bad, and he was dressed a little like that poor homeless man daddy had given a dollar a few days ago. With all the pieces of clothes sewn together. OH yeah! He had an axe too.. mummy had mentioned something about axe murderers. She wasn't quite sure what that was but it sounded simply aweful.

The only thing that kept her from trying to swim away was that he had food. She was so hungry, and he talked a little. Sure, it was mostly to himself and he kind of answered himself too if he asked a question. The main reason she didn't jump though was that he hadn't tried to eat her. Mummy had never told her about people that ate other people. Had she mentioned it though she would have been right of course, she was her mummy after all.

She tugged on the pair of jeans the strange man had given her. They went all the way to her arm pits and were so loose he'd had to tie them on with pieces of rope for suspenders. He'd seemed so happy when she had said she was a big girl and new how to handle the sort of thing she'd done when they first met, all on her own. Though a little annoyed when he had to give her somethng else to wear.

The girl smiled a little. He was a strange man, with an axe, who probably wanted to put her in a car and drive away with her.. but he seemed nice. Scary but nice.

"Hey kid. You got a name? I can't keep sayin hey you kid all the time."

She blushed a little and looked up before saying, "Maribeth.." in a soft almost whisper.

Scott nodded and then turned his back on her, they were coming up on his target, and he had plans to make.

Maribeth drank some more water and snuggled herself up between some fuel drums. He was nice but rude. Mummy had said that if someone asks your name they're supposed to give you theirs first. They're also supposed to say please and thank you.

She settled in and waited to see what happens. He had mentioned something about the grocery store up ahead and she was hoping it was the same one her family was at. The mean people that tried to eat them had gotten in and mummy had shoved her into the boat, before they dragged her off.

Maribeth sniffled a little and started to cry before slowly drifting off to sleep again.

Scott glanced back at hearing her whimpering little sobs and sighed. "Poor thing.. must be in shock or something. Weird kid though, most of the little ankle biters would be bawling their eyes out."

The grocery store was about a mile up the river, and he'd catch a glimpse of what he needed to do when he got there.

---

Yes, i'm aware that this is a REALLY short chapter as far as such things go. I apologize if that annoys some of you, but honestly it didn't feel right to introduce a brand new character and then have her glossed over while our makeshift hero raids a grocery store.. and more.

For those of you who were hoping for more gory over the top action, or at least SOME action. Learn to live with disappointment. hehehe. Action aplenty in the next chapter.


	6. Divine Retribution

Disclaimer: I didn't invent the zombie movie genre. A lot of random people did. Dawn of the dead, was created by george romero and I thought I might be sure to mention that since i'm disclaiming. Though this isn't truly a dawn of the dead fic, it is a fanfiction of the zombie movie genre and this is the only place I could really put it.

Warning: This chapter involves graphic depictions of violence, a great deal of horrible imagery, necessary to the story but still incredibly foul language, and mentions of rape, torture and some of the worst ills of humanity.

Chapter 6: Divine retribution.

He once told me that he wasn't sure whether it was the undead and hell beasts that roamed the land, or the true monsters that disgusted him the most. It wasn't till he told me about the first time he'd gone shopping in the 'new world' that I finally understood what he meant.

Journalist Lana Kohl, a one time compatriot of the 'man' called paladin.

It was the middle of the afternoon and the heat was beginning to get to him. At this point he just wanted to get out of his armor, but he knew that would be the worst thing to do. If it came off, he wouldn't be putting it back on again for a while and he had several things to do in a limited time. The winter day may be hotter than normal, but the nights still come early. Judging by the sun's position he did a rough estimate that he might have maybe two hours of daylight left.

He glanced down at his watch and noted the time. "A little after three... we'll definitely have to try and weigh anchor for the night afterwards.", muttered the man to himself followed by, "After I make some kind of anchor anyway."

Scott finished prepping himself, and stepped into the little boat. He'd have to risk leaving Maribeth behind and hope the barge didn't drift too close to shore now that they were heading into the center of a small lake area. He should in theory have enough time to get everything he needed, but only if he could get past any random undead that are around.

"Hey, Kid.. remember what I said." said Scott perfunctorily.

Maribeth blushed cutely and said, "Y-yeah. Keep my head down and shut my mouth.. so the bad people won't come get me?"

Scott nodded and hefted the boat hook. The shaft on it was long enough to reach the bottom, but he'd have to be perilously close to the shore due to the small lake deepening about fifteen feet out.

With a small sigh Scott set off towards his next stop of the destiny express.

Maribeth watched him pole his way slowly over to the store about a quarter mile away. She hoped her mummy and daddy would be ok. Those bad people had been very mad.

It was an eerie feeling that snaked its way along Scott's spine as he poled a mere ten feet from the bank. There was not any sign of a zombie in sight, but the closeness to the shore unnerved him all the same.

Contrary to film and the typical stories it actually took him quite a few minutes to shove Maribeth's little boat towards the store. Usually in stories and film the boat cuts through the water like a knife. He found his pole tended to get lightly stuck in the mud now and then and caused a little drag that slowed his progress. Maybe he was simply pressing down too hard? Whatever the case, he didn't change his motions since they did manage to work.

The unnatural silence unnerved the man more than he would likely admit. The whole place felt empty, and despite the heat he managed to get a sense that there was a kind of chill in the air.

Silently he glided slowly through the water, keeping wary eyes on the banks, but forcing himself not to look back at the barge. If he looked back he might convince himself to turn around, and they needed these supplies too desperately to allow that.

As the store came closer in his view he could make out clearly the signs of struggle and violence. The bridge leading to the shore had been completely destroyed in the middle portion, a few pylons and braces still lingered above the water's surface.

He didn't quite know why but something about that caused him to feel great concern. He took a deep breath and focused his eyes on the target ahead. The little boat dock in the back.

He noticed the back door standing wide open as he came upon the dock and his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. He no longer had time for idle fears and mental phantasms. He had work to do.

Nothing had moved inside as he lightly tied the boat to the dock. A single knotted loop he'd fashioned before getting there. It held the boat there, though it did leave a short three foot distance of water between the boat and the dock as the slow and mild current gently pressed against it.

With a deliberate slowness of motion he stepped onto the dock, making certain to only step on places that seemed to be directly nailed down. The noise that creaked out was insanely loud to the man, but he knew that to step casually was to cause the decibel levels to be much higher.

His axe came free and the doorway soon became wide before him. No longer a possible necessity, it was now a portal to danger.

He took that first room in a bold fashion he knew as the only way. He rushed in at an angle, slamming the door against the wall and doing a quick scan of everything in the immediate area the smell of rot and death almost overpowering him. The time for stealth had ended, there would be too many hiding places, too many easily over looked spots for him to creep around without being attacked by the undead.

He waited there in that first room, a small storage area, for the undead to clamor through the narrow hallway adjoining it to the main part of the store. He was at a good angle where he could see them, but they could not see him. If they could even see at all. His time in the tunnels had given him much to ponder on that subject. Several tense minutes passed as he readied himself, but nothing happened.

The place reeked of death, but it wasn't likely to be undeath. He had almost left his spot when he heard voices attempting to be stealthy. I say attempting because they were obviously whispering. Scott couldn't quite make out the words, but it still showed lack of knowledge on their part. It's actually much harder to hear normal speech in very soft tones, than the harsher forced sound of a whisper.

A much louder whisper that sounded like, "probably just the fuckin wind again.."

A few more harshly whispered responses he couldn't quite make out and then the sound of heavy footfalls heading his way. Scott waited out of sight knowing that he'd be knee deep in shit soon enough. The boat was right outside and easily seen at the end of the narrow dock. Even the least competent person on the planet could not fail to see it bobbing there.

Scott got his first view of whispered number one when he rounded the corner. His immediate thought despite the unfairness of it was, 'man what a douche.' The guy was covered in grime and filth. Understandable really considering the situation. What wasn't understandable was why he seemed to be wearing several cans of beans and franks. Hell, some of the beans were stuck in his zz top style beard. All the blood stains hadn't escaped his notice either.

The leather vest, and random paraphanelia should have given him a hell's angel, biker gang kind of look. Sadly though, all it did was make a guy wearing patchwork armor made of old clothes and wielding an axe made of an old piece of farm equipment think he was a douche.

Scott slowed his breathing and too light breaths. The angle would prevent the man from seeing him unless he made a proper search of the room, behind every random box and barrel.

The douche stopped at the door and stared at the boat for a second, then snorted. "Feh, just the fuckin boat knocking against the dock..." Scott could hardly believe his ears when he heard that. Was this guy really that dense?

What he heard next changed his attitude from incredulous to down right murderous. "Those two bitches we found hiding here need to wake the hell up soon, i'm gettin tired of this shit. Wonder where that little cunt went that was ridin that thing. Probably fell off or got eaten or some shit. Good riddance. She woulda only been good the first time anyway."

The man never had a chance to turn around as a one time farm implement became a contemporary instrument of divine retribution, crashing into his skull with riotous fury.

Scott's luck wouldn't hold out though, as behind him came an outraged shout of, "What the fuck?!"

Whirling around to face the next opponent Scott found himself staring down the barrel of a twelve gauge shotgun.

----

Maribeth had been a bad girl and now the bad people were going to eat her. She'd gotten lonely and peeked over the top of the railing to see if she saw Scott, but all she saw was the boat tied at the grocery store.

She hadn't kept her head down and now the bad people would eat her. She just knew it. The little girl hugged her knees and cried softly while rocking back and forth.

---

Scott spat blood on the floor and struggled against his restraints again. His armor was in a tattered heap in the corner, and his weapons were tossed in the river. It was a strange feeling for him, being consumed by rage and hate for the first time in his life.

Despite the horrible beating the guy had given him after the other three members of his five member douche gang showed up to back him up, Scott didn't feel fear. People don't tend to fear things they have every intention of killing with extreme satisfaction.

His left eye had closed over and he thought he might have a few cracked ribs, but otherwise it was all superficial damage. These guys might consider themselves badasses, but as far as fighting goes, he had no doubt even in his sorry state that if he got free he could take them one on one.

Problem was they weren't giving him the opportunity.

"The buttfucker is staring at me again Hank. Think he likes me?" smirked a douche with a crew cut and earrings. Far be it from him to disrespect a normal man's desicion to wear pink frilly aprons, but this particular man made Scott's skin crawl. Especially since the apron had a hello kitty print on it.

"Yeah, he's a pretty boy. Bet he has a nice tight ass. Haven't had me none of that since I got parole." sniggered the guy that had the only firearm that Scott had seen in the place. Hank, as they called him, was a potbellied idiot that wore a rebel flag head band and seemed to always have a bottle of liquor in his hand.

Scott had a sudden urge to vomit, but he wasn't sure whether it was just because of the not so subtle homosexual rape intentions, or the fact that all these idiots were like some walking talking stereotype of the worst aspects of humanity.

You had your rebel flag wearing drunken gay redneck douche. Your obvious cross dresser that probably wants to lose his 'manhood' and change his name to 'candy' douche. There was the hill-billy biker douche, now dead thankfully. There was the black guy douche that had been spewing bullshit and always seemed to argue with the drunk redneck, and seemed to hate 'the white man' for treating him wrong despite the fact that he was here with four white guys, raping, pillaging, and all kinds of hypocritical crap.

Then there was the guy wearing glasses douche. He hadn't said more than a few words the entire time, but he kept polishing his glasses and occasionally quirking his eyebrow. Scott wasn't sure what messed up charicature of humanity he was supposed to be, but he had to have some kind of gimic.

"I wouldn't be surprised, cuz all you white fuckers are always trying to screw the black man."

Hank pointed at Malik and said, "Shut that shit up, nobody wants your black ass, bitch."

"Fuck you!" eloquently snarled the perpetually enraged man.

"Ohh me too me too!" exclaimed billy buttpirate while tugging his hello kitty apron. His real name was Bill, but Scott didn't care. He was billy buttpirate to him.

Scott couldn't understand how any of these sick freaks could even consider sex or rape or even eating in all this stench. There were rotting bodies stacked in the far corner, most likely truly dead zombies.

"Hell yeah you too, you gay bitch, but not right now." snorted Malik.

Scott carefully kept his eyes off the two prone forms lying next to a busted counter top. His peripheral vision gave him the vauge impression of female forms. While he was very curious as to who they were and how they were doing, he knew that if he looked at them directly these idiots would probably do something they'd later regret. Even with the idiotic background noise that passed for conversation here he could hear one of the girls breathing. It was shallow and ragged and very loud.

Well, they'd regret more. Scott was already going to kill them after all. He wasn't generally a violent man at heart, but with all the horror and despair in the world right now, the last thing the last vestiges of humanity needed hanging around were the true monsters that would do this during a crisis.

Zombies he could understand and hold no true hatred for. These creatures though, deserved nothing more than death in his eyes.

Scott pondered that thought when a curious sound, or lack there of occurred to him. The girl's labored breathing had stopped.

The douche brothers didn't notice, but Scott did. After a minute the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He worked as quickly as he could at his bonds, trying to loosen them any amount he could.

The girl began to tremble a little and Scott's wrists were becoming bloody and raw. The rope, however, was beginning to loosen.

"Hey! Stop that shit!" snapped Hank, as he finally noticed Scott's frantic movements.

Scott didn't and hank turned the shotgun on him.

"Little murdering bitch, you stop or i'll fuckin end you."

Our hero, well as far as this messed up story goes anyway, stopped and quirked an eyebrow. "Sure.. i'll stop but you really have more to worry about right now than me."

"The fuck.. you talkin about?" snapped hank testily, a split second before the now zombified corpse of a poor young woman snarled and tackled him, the gun flying out of his hands and into the air as the living dead girl bit down with terrible fierocity and ripped a large chunk of his side free.

Perhaps it was simple irony, mayhaps coincidence. Scott would later view it as a form of divine intervention, but as the shotgun slammed to the floor the gun fired and billy the buttpirate was shot, his entire right leg being blown off at the knee.

Screaming in agony he went down, while Hank shrieked for someone to 'get this fucking dead cunt off of me'.

The unnamed glasses douche went for the gun and turned it on the zombified woman. He pulled the trigger and an audible 'click' was heard.

"It's empty!"

Hank screamed in agony as he struggled with the far stronger girl, but soon his screams ended as she took a chunk of his neck out.

Scott had been using these brief few seconds to his advantage and had rolled his way over to the corner, and finished freeing himself from the poorly knotted rope.

By the time he was on his feet, Malik had bashed the zombie girl's head into an unrecognizable mass with a crowbar.

"Fuckin bitch!" snapped the continually enraged man as he slammed the bar into her again and again.

Scott glanced down at what was left of hank and watched his eyes pop open.

Glasses saw him finally and thankfully yelled, "The bastard's free!"

Malik spun around and roared out a racial remark heavily slurred by rage, and made like he was going to run at scott. As fate would have it though, his roar of outrage caught zombie hank's attention and he went down in a screaming heap as the undead man grabbed his right leg and tore a large chunk of calf away despite the jeans the man was wearing.

Denied the tasty morsel it had tried to obtain, Malik struggled with it in vain as the physically superior zombie clawed it's way forward and managed to catch and bite down on his arm while he pushed at it.

Glasses fidgeted trying to figure out what to do, and then did the only sensible thing in his situation. He ran for the front door and tried to make his escape into the woods. Woods that were fast becoming re-inhabited by the shambling undead due to the noise of a recently fired shotgun.

Scott edged out of sight of the feasting zombie, it's attention occupied with the squealing meat in it's grasp. The tool section wasn't too far away and hopefully the owner hadn't sold out of what he was looking for.

Scott's hackles raised again as Malik's anguished wails went quiet. Then they subsided slightly when the moaning buttpirate started screaming again, he had another brief moment. Zombie Hank had found more dinner, and now zombie Malik was waking up to join him.

He saw the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen in his life as he turned the corner. Fishing nets on one side, sledge hammers on the other.

Taking one of each, Scott hopped up on to a counter and glided as quietly as possible back over to the feasting idiots. He had one shot at this and he hoped he could still cast with the best of them. He gentle sat his hammer down.

The net sailed out and hung in the air briefly before dropping down on top of the tightly compacted trio in the open section of floor.

Immediately they began struggling, and Scott pulled on the cord. Zombie hank became hopelessly entangled but Zombie Malik was managing to wriggle free but before that would be allowed to happen Scott gripped his prone hammer and jumped off the counter top towards them. His heart beating a marathon, he raised the hammer as he landed and slammed the head down hard onto the struggling Malik. The first shot was off a bit and landed on his left shoulder, crushing it utterly.

Less mobile now, Scott managed to hit him on the second swing smashing his brain open in a display of violent imagery that would definitely earn an 'R' rating anyday.

He jumped back a little narrowly avoiding an attempt by zombie hank to bite his exposed leg and slammed the top part of the hammer forward in a lunge to rattle the monster, before whirling it around in an arc to bash him in the head.

Panting, and winded our naked bloodied hero glanced down at the dead image of billy buttpirate and raised the hammer. He waited. It took only a moment, but the eyes flicked open and the hammer came down with swift unrelenting justice.

Some might if they saw that say they had seen a man be humane and wait to see the life had faded from another human beings eyes and then slain a monster. The cold reality though was far different. Scott had wanted him to see the hammer coming, even if these creatures did turn out to be blind.

He resisted the urge to raise his gore laced hammer in triumph and let out a primal roar. There was no time. He'd wasted nearly the entire two hours and to be honest, he was exhausted. Though it did occur to him a moment later that he probably didn't have a cracked rib. He did manage to lift a sledge hammer and kill a few douche bag zombies with it after all.

----

Maribeth jumped with a start when she heard the gun shot coming from the store. Her Scott had been gone a long long time. An hour and a half could be an eternity for a little girl, especially when she was sitting all alone in a barge.

She hugged herself tight and silently prayed as her mummy had taught her. Please god let her Scott be ok.

When he'd become her Scott is anyone's guess, but in a childlike fashion her loneliness and subsequent rescue and then loneliness again, had caused her to latch onto him. Even if he was a stranger that would probably offer her candy and make her ride in his car.

Right now riding in a car with anyone sounded like the best thing ever.

-----

Scott had briefly washed himself off with a pot, some rags, and a jug of water he'd set aside for the occasion.

Sweat, blood, bits of brain matter, all had been washed away. Not as thoroughly as he liked, but it would do. He'd cleaned up and donned his tattered armor again, before he remembered something. There had been two girls.

He grabbed his sledge hammer, for some reason electing to use the gore covered one instead of a clean one, and walked calmly over to the prone form.

The first thing he'd noticed was that she was breathing. So even if she was infected she wasn't dead yet.

She wasn't bad looking and would probably clean up nice once all the external bruises healed. The bruises and scars on her psyche might take a lot longer. He hadn't notice anything about her exterior though beyond the lack of immediately noticeable bite wounds.

She was naked already, so he didn't have to deal with the guilt of taking her clothes off to search her. She was banged up, and definitely had some abrasions, but nothing beyond that. She did have a nasty bruise on her head though and it might be why she was unconscious.

Out of morbid curiosity Scott went and examined the other girl and was more than a little disturbed by why he found. Unless she had been bitten on the face or head she had no visible bite wounds. She had a bad gash on her chest that looked dark and disturbing, a bandage torn off nearby had soaked up what looked like a great deal of pus. It could have been a normal infection that killed her with the lack of medical care in this crisis environment.

That tidbit of knowledge did not sit well with Scott at all. If she hadn't died from a bite, then was it possible that any who died might turn? It would certainly make sense to him. I mean, where would the first zombie had come from if it needed bites?

He had no time to ponder this at the moment as he began rapidly filling a white twenty gallon plastic tub with canned food. He'd have to work with a swiftness.

The sun had set, and the last vestiges of daylight were fading as Scott poled his way back to the barge. There was no longer an eerie silence about the place though, as he could hear loud crashing sounds in the woods and the occasional scream of 'Please god help me.'

The zombies had found something nummy that sounded a lot like a guy who polishes his glasses with an obsessive compulsion.

The girl lying in the boat moaned softly, the first sound she'd made besides breathing. It wasn't the erry blood chilling moan of the undead though. It was far too normal for that. Scott thought to himself. Maybe our new friend is going to wake up sometime this century. Poor bastard, she'd be better off if she hadn't.

-----

Ok there's chapter six.

For those wondering what happened to Maribeth's parents, who this unconscious girl is, and why she and another girl were found hiding in a place that apparently had been overrun by zombies. That's a bit of information for chapter seven I should think. That is unless someone already knows her story, or if she actually wakes up to tell that tale herself.


	7. Ooops my bad?

Well, here is an absurdly short chapter, more in the vein that I would call 'filler'.

Chapter 7: Ooops my bad.

Scott hammered the last of the wood into place and sighed in semi-accomplishment. The framework was finally done, but the bricks wouldn't be ready for some time. There was plenty of clay near the banks, and the small forest that thrived there was filled with pine trees and the occasional fruit tree. So finding pine needles and the like would help with making bricks.

They would be shoddy home made bricks, but they'd be better than nothing.

The three members of the human race in this island 'fortress' had arrived in an anticlimactic fashion in the mid morning of the day three weeks earlier. Scott, ever paranoid had done a thorough check of the island's every nook and cranny.

It wasn't a particularly large place, but with the trees and such it had taken him several hours to traverse the place and check for any signs of habitation, undead or otherwise.

Surprisingly all he found were a few startled deer that the former owners had bought off of people for their amusement, the squirrels that always managed to be anywhere there was a tree despite any logical way they could be in that location, and a multitude of birds.

This place was the perfect hideaway spot, and that's what worried him. It was all too easy. He had been living on adrenaline and narrow escapes for two solid days before they got here and his body was still dealing with the shock.

Ever present in his 'paranoid' mind was a need to fortify the place, so the very next day he raided the lumber mill six miles up river. He kept expecting some kind of horrible battle against impossible odds, but there had only been one family of rats that squealed indignantly when he opened the door to unleash daylight on their happily nocturnal world.

When he'd returned though, he saw the 'zombies'. They moaned and reached for him from the shore all around the lake, but made no real effort to come after him. He'd even witnessed a most disturbing sight.

One of the zombies got pushed in as they milled about and it started flailing and screaming. That in and of itself was strange. What really worried Scott was that he could swear he saw one of those monsters bend down and help it.

Snarling brain dead creatures ravening for his blood are one thing. Those creatures with the ability to reason or the capacity for teamwork are quite another. He was sure he'd imagined the scene, he had to have.

Still, he went to work on that first wall with a vengeance.

Maribeth looked after her friend in the house while Scott worked all through the day and early evening for close to three solid weeks to get the frame work done. Even now it was just for the first six feet.

He'd designed it sort of like a box. He was going to try and raid a few hardware stores after the 'brick boxes' were completed to get all the available concrete mixture he could find. Then he'd make a solid concrete barrier by planting some metal poles into the ground inside the boxes, to help add stability and filling in the boxes with concrete. It would be back breaking labor by himself, but it had to be done.

He had no true engineering experience, but it seemed like the best wall he was going to have without cutting down every tree on the island. Besides, it kept him busy. That was almost as important as defenses.

Scott gazed across the water at a thinner zombie population and quirked an eyebrow. Not as many today. He was sure of it now, not as many had come back after it rained. These things did seem to dislike water something fierce.

He glanced at the sky, then down at his watch and sighed. "Time to make some bricks.."

----

Maribeth flipped the spam-steaks over again and smiled at the little camp stove. They weren't as bad grilled and her Scott had said he'd go find some real meat when the wall was done. However, despite her happy exterior tears began to stream from her tiny little eyes. She missed her mummy and daddy and hoped they were alright. Her Scott hadn't seen anyone that looked like them among the bodies inside, or at least that's what he'd told her.

Chloe shifted in her sleep on the cot nearby. Maribeth had thought she might like a bit of fresh air, and decided to bring her outside. The poor girl's bruises were faded, and she looked a lot better overall on the outside after a good clean up, but she hadn't woken up yet.

After she'd gotten cleaned up the next day, Maribeth had recognized her as one of the other people that had been in the grocery store when the bad people came. That's really why Maribeth hoped she'd wake up. She'd been scared but really nice to her.

Hopefully she'd know something about her mummy and daddy when she woke up. Her Scott told her that Chloe would wake up, and she knew it was true. He was her Scott after all.

---

Scott took a quick 'bath' with a bucket of water and settled in to have a nice quiet family dinner with Maribeth and the girl she had called 'Chloe'. Chloe wasn't much of a conversationalist at the moment, but then at least she had an excuse.

He regarded the unconscious girl for a moment and then poured some more steak sauce on his spam. He detested spam, it wasn't that bad really, but he detested it all the same.

"Scott..?" began Maribeth.

The young-old man blinked and turned his gaze upon the little girl. She trembled a little so he probably had scared her again. He did that a lot without meaning too.

"Yeah, kid?"

The little girl blushed a little. "Um..well.. I was wondering..?"

Scott quirked an eyebrow and began to wonder himself. What was the little squirt on about now.

"Well.. ?" he asked.

Maribeth looked down at the table and played with her napkin. "Uhm... do.. do you think it'd be ok, if we got some more clothes soon? I mean.. Chloe's been naked for weeks.. and well...if that's ok with you?"

Scott blinked again trying to process that obvious statement. He looked down at the little girl still wearing his old pair of pants and a tee-shirt.. and then at the unconscious girl wrapped in a blanket and nearly smacked himself for his stupidity. He'd only packed a few sets of clothes, since he knew he didn't care if he stank in a crisis and he'd be wearing his currently repaired but badly worn armor.

He'd have to make another trip tomorrow. He might as well try to get the concrete now, other supplies and some new clothes. At least he'd have everything he needed for the wall already here when it's time to finish.

"I'll go find some tomorrow Maribeth." he said in a soft tone.

The little girl smiled cutely she knew her Scott would take care of it.

----

author's poorly written and grammatically incorrect notes.

and there you have it. a nice little chapter to tease you. There' s a lot going on in the next few chapters and I didn't want to shove it all into one big chapter like I would feel I had to if I added any more to this one. These next few chapters are the ones where you begin to notice some serious differences between the standard movie zombie and what the characters in this story will be dealing with.


	8. Reconstruct

We know very little about his first few years. Some claim he was never really a man at all and simply descended from on high to set right all the wrongs in the world. These people built a church around his name, his ideals, and his image. Ever since his disappearance after the battle against the thirteenth advent, these people had dogmatically come to believe he would return one day, to usher them into a new world without pain and suffering.

Personally I think that's all a bunch of horse manure. I knew the man. Yes, he has powers far beyond those of anybody you'll find today. Yet, he was more human than most people I know too. If someone he was protecting got injured he became depressed, and angry. Just like a 'real boy'.

To so many he is revered as 'The Paladin'. To me he'll always be batman.

The wisdom of John, a retrospective look at one of The Paladin's closest advisors.

Chapter 8: Reconstruct

"I-is it still out there, man?!" hissed one ragged looking blonde man. His clothes were filfthy tatters, and he seemed to not have ever known the cleansing touch of soap a day in his life. He had been considered such for years now though, and not just due to the recent apocalypse.

His partner, a stocky man in his late fifties named Dougie, nodded. "Yeah,, brother.. I don't know what the hell it is, but it can't be human. No one can fight a dozen of those monsters with a net and a sledge hammer. Sure it had found random spots with decent elevation, and picked them off one or two at a time, but that just made it really smart as far as good ol' Dougie was concerned.

Tom grunted to himself and tried to calm down. They'd been stuck in this small coffee shop ever since the world went nuts, and they'd been out of food for a week. The city water had finally shut off yesterday too. They weren't gonna be round much longer. Now with that 'thing' out there it was an even shorter prospect.

A short time later a loud steady knock could be heard from the boarded and fortified front door. Tom and doug, suddenly found themselves huddling together in the farthest corner of their one room fortress. Whatever it was wanted in.

Then a deep masculine voice resounded from outside, "Attention the house... Make your presence known, or i'll assume this place is abandoned and enter accordingly."

The two homeless men clutched each other and whimpered, "Whaddya think Tommie..?"

"We gonna die man..." whimpered the man in question, his eyes wide as saucers.

The voice called again. "Final warning! I'm coming in!"

"I love you bro! If it had to end like this, at least it was with you man." cried Dougie. He had served in vietnam and seen horrors most normal people couldn't imagine until recently, yet he hadn't truly felt fear until this day.

Asian guys with guns and bad attitudes, at least from his perspective, where one thing. Demons from hell that killed things that he couldn't even fight were a whole new ballgame. One he didn't have the right kind of balls to play.

"Me too man!" exclaimed tom, his breath coming ragged and rushed. He and Dougie had met up years ago on the streets, two former American heroes conveniently forgotten and discarded by the society they had chosen to defend.

They trembled against each other as the first strike rang against the wooded door. Several hits later and a lot groaning led to all the random lightweight furniture they had shoved against the door was being slowly pushed away.

A helmeted head poked itself through the door and took stock of the area inside, It hadn't spotted them yet, but it's eyes would surely adjust to the different light levels shortly.

After a rough minute, it slipped inside. Battered armor, torn cloth, and blood splatter left a gruesome image before the eyes of these two men. Gore encrusted hammer, still covered with random bits of bone and brain matter tapped down in front of it as it turned its gaze upon them.

The hellspawned creature stared at them for a moment and then turned around and shut the door before pushing all the furniture back against it. It seemed to stare quizzically at the broken lock, and then shrugged its shoulders.

The men stayed deathly silent for a moment as they clutched each other in fear.

The creature leaned its demonic hammer against the wooden counter nearby, and removed a small pack from it's hip.

"Are either of you in need of food or medical attention?" asked the creature calmly. Though Dougie wasn't fooled. Its eyes never wavered in their scrutinizing gaze.

---------

Scott had come upon the run down shop as he was passing through to obtain some needed supplies. He'd gone on several such 'runs' in the last five months, and found that despite the constant danger he much preferred to keep moving than to constantly be behind enclosing walls.

In the course of his runs he'd rescued about five more people and began to develop a system of first contact procedures just in case of future occurrences.

As he jogged around the corner, he'd come upon a familiar scene. A small hoard of undead moaning and beating on a door that seemed unlikely to give.

Their feeble attempts and sluggish sounding moans gave him the thought that these particular undead hadn't devoured anything warm and nummy in a while.

Undead senses were not dimmed though as they turned relatively quickly and began shambling for him. These weren't runners by a long shot and with his equipment and rapidly developing prowess with his meelee weapons it shouldn't take long.

The others on paradise island, as they had started calling it for some reason, thought him insane for not allowing them to come with him. Though to be honest, none of them complained too much. They did the necessary work and upkeep of the place, and left him to do what he felt he must.

He had never intended for people to place any kind of leadership role on him, but they just seemed to naturally do what he would suggest from time to time. Sheeple were funny that way.

Fifteen not so grueling minutes of combat later, and Scott was announcing his presence and entering the possibly, but not likely to be, abandoned shop.

Inside he found a pair of miserable looking men, scrawny and pale from lack of sunlight and obvious malnutrition. He'd offered food and medical attention but neither made any move but to shake in terror.

"Gentlemen, there's no need to be so alarmed." he said as he went to step two in the introduction sequence. Reveal to them that he isn't some kind of demon from hell. He'd run across that a few times before with people that had tried to shoot him. He'd found several small outposts of humanity, but most were very wary of travelers.

He saw them begin to wonder, but not make a move to accept him so he continued on, and began the most dangerous sequence by removing his helmet. "My name is Scott, and apparently i'm here to rescue you."

---------

"So, when's the lord of the manor coming back?" asked a teenage boy named Jake. He was an ex-football player on his highschool team. Said team had tried to eat him recently so he was currently seeking another line of after school activity. Well if school still existed.

He and his little brother Jimmy had been holed up in a small gas station outside town. It was a rarely visited outpost in the area ever since the highway had been built and the owners had boarded it up and shut it down about three weeks prior to the end of human civilization.

"He's going on a trip to Walston creek, said he'd be back by next week since he's going on foot." answered Chloe. She'd turned out to be more than a little good looking, and Jake in his typical fashion had decided she was going to be his girl. Sure, she had a thing for 'Mr. wandering hero' that came and went as he pleased, but since he tended to be gone a day or two at a time he figured he at least had a shot.

It wasn't that he was ungrateful to Scott for saving him and his little brother, in fact he'd asked on more than one occasion to be allowed to go with him. Scott's only answer had always been, "You aren't ready, train some and ask me again next time."

"Don't get me wrong, the guy rocks, but he's crazy as hell. Why does he keep doing that shit on foot?" he asked. He'd never quite figured out why Scott refused to make too much noise. Sure, the zombies were attracted to sound, but it was a lot easier to escape with a set of wheels than on foot.

"Well this time, he's heading to the car lot, to pick up an SUV or a hummer. He figured if he keeps finding people to take in we'd need more supplies than he can lug back to the barge on foot. Plus he's had a few ideas for an armored vehicle. What he's really hoping for is to find a bus along the way." said the nineteen year old former pre-med student.

"Cool, old 'wander the earth' is gonna come into the car age at last. heh." snorted the young man. Maybe now he'd let a few of them go with him when he came back. Jake had no thoughts otherwise, since it seemed impossible for Scott to simply not return. He was like some kind of superhero to everyone here.

Hell, he'd taken out a small horde of those shambling monsters and barely seemed to notice the massive bruises and possible fractures he'd received in the process, when rescuing him and Jake.

As the two were musing over that statement a tallish older man came in and smiled slightly. "When's batman coming back? We almost have the outer wall finshed, and just need to work on the winches tomorrow."

"A couple days from now. He said sometime next week." answered Jake, trying to sound knowledgeable and important.

Chloe smirked at him and nodded when John turned to her for confirmation. Everyone knew the only people he ever made an effort to tell of his plans were her and Maribeth. They were like his lieutenants or squires or something. He'd let it be known that he was leaving and coming back, 'soon.'

John nodded and went to the fridge to get something to drink. Usually Maribeth loved to do the drink runs for everyone, but she'd been depressed since yesterday. A whole week without her Scott was not something she looked forward to.

Everyone took extra special care to keep her cheered up whenever Scott left on his wanderings as he called them.

John looked at her like the little white granddaughter he never had. She reminded him so much of his little Sherry when she was a child. He missed her a great deal, and often wondered if she was alright. The lines of communication had been down for far too long, and probably wouldn't be back up in any of their life-times.

"So you and Jimmy are done with everything else?" asked Chloe as she checked the roast in the oven. On his last trip Scott had brought back a few ducks, some annoying little chickens, and a cow. Neither was to be eaten he 'suggested' but eggs and fresh milk might be nice. He'd gone hunting after that, on the shore, and brought back a deer.

So, today Chloe was baking cookies, cooking a deer roast, and making salads for everyone. She had taken over the task of being a cook as well as resident nurse. Maribeth assisted her and made sure everyone else was doing ok.

Jake and 'hammerhead' took turns at watch doing twelve hour shifts. It was the former gangbanger's turn and so Jake was off for the rest of the day. It was a fairly sweet gig. You sit in the tower and look at the occasional zombie or bit of wild life, and sort of chill. When you got done, you made sure to fill the generators, or switch them over depending on the shift and the day.

If you fall asleep while Scott's around though he'll have your ass. He'd caught them both on a few different occasions. He never touched them in anger but he told them.. "Fine.. you want to sleep on watch.. go ahead.. " Then stood there till they left and went inside and then went to sleep himself. No one would stand guard for the rest of their shift and everyone would be scared out of their minds.

It had only happened once or twice and they'd gotten the point. You pay attention on guard duty or you can't sleep peacefully.

"Yep. Got the wall sectioned off into those little 'killing yards' as he called them. Zombies and anyone else comes in.. and they're just all out of luck." said the man.

"Has Jenna come down today?" he asked softly then. The other two residents of the kitchen getting quiet. The blind woman rarely came down. She could get around well enough on her own most of the time, but with her dog sick she spent most of her time looking after him. He had been her only champion and friend for several weeks after the world had died, and it had been simply miraculous that they had survived as long as they had.

Her mother had shoved her into a store room in a local supermarket, and locked the door. She'd lost all sense of time but a little over three weeks had passed before rescue came. Rescue in the form of a man she could not see.

Russell, her canine helper, had been able to help her find food and water whenever he himself had gotten hungry or thirsty.

The dog himself was a big hit with everyone and it bothered them all that he'd gotten ill.

"No she hasn't, but Russell seemed to be doing a bit better today. Maribeth is up there with them trying to cheer them up."said Chloe, as she tossed her salad.

"That's good, hate to lose that dog. He's a smart one." said John as he finished his lemonade, and poured two more glasses, for him, Jimmy, and Hammerhead.

-------

Scott and his two new companions stealthily, well somewhat stealthily in the case of Tom, slipped through the car lot. Scott had already done a perimeter search and found no activity, but the last thing he wanted to do was give their position away to any roving band of zombies or thugs.

Using a series of hand signals the three of them only vaugely remembered, two because of a long distant past, and the other because he didn't have to use them too often in his more recent memory, they skittered around the lot and then circled the office.

The building had been closed the day everything went to hell, and Walston Creek was a smallish little town anyway.

They stacked on the door, and Scott grimaced at the dead bolt lock. He hated to do what he had to, due to the noise but he had no choice. He took his gloved hand and kept smacking the window next to it lightly and then a little harder until it cracked. Then he continued until it broke inward enough that he could push it in. It still made way too much noise in his opinion but he didn't know how to pick a deadbolt.

He looked through the window, saw no movement, and reached in to unlock the door. A tense moment ensued where he was absolutely certain that a zombie was going to come up and drag him through the window by is arm. It never happened though and the door came unlocked.

A ransacking off the office produced no keys, until they came across a small locked locked safe. It was a cheaply constructed one thankfully, and a few hard hits from the sledge hammer knocked the cheap lock off and revealed a smaller locked box on the inside. Along with a few wads of cash, and oddly enough a picture of a naked woman drinking a glass of wine.

Scott rather noisily, in his estimation, took a screw driver from his belt and began prying at the lock. Soon it popped open, and revealed it was in deed a box full of keys.

Being an opportunist, he took the whole box after locating the specific keys he was looking for. He might want to come back and snag a few more.

They returned to the Mammoth sized hummer, much larger than the military version he'd ridden in, and put the key in the ignition. The trio traveled over to the much smaller section labeled "hybrid cars". He fished out the keys.. for the two, the homeless guys picked out, and then they loaded up in their new vehicles and started off on the now much shorter journey back to the barge.

Scott was a little iffy on the maximum weight capacity of the barge, but if nothing else, they'd make a second trip to pick up the cars. The hummer though, was going on there without a doubt.

-------

Whelp that's it for chapter 8. Sort of typical in the, let's make a fortress scenario, but such an idealistic lifestyle can't last forever. A year or two maybe, but not forever.

Thoughts? Complaints? Show some love?

As to why John calls Scott batman.. that'll have to wait for a little thing I like to call.. backstory.


	9. Something beautifully sinister

"So, you're saying the advents are demons?" asked the older man. A journalist for the new Detroit oracle.

A Scholar of the order of califa, a sect of magicians that used the power of tectonic plate activity to fuel their shamanistic rituals replied, "Well, that's the general consensus, but apparently some disagree."

"Like who? Who disagree?" asked the reporter.

The Scholar smiled. "Well The Paladin did, for one."

"Really? What did he think they were?"

He rubbed his eye glasses a moment, before he replied to the reporter, "Well, no one can be certain, but a surviving text from that era claimed that one time at least he was asked. He had answered 'Demons hate everything and everyone, including themselves. The advents aren't demons, because they love deeply. They love the world so deeply that they hate everyone of us that live in it."

"That makes no sense..?" asked the journalist incredulously.

The Scholar shrugged. "The Paladin was rarely noted for giving a straight answer. Hell, there is a sect of people that claimed he never even existed."

A short excerpt of an interview with Darius Carren. Head Theologian for the order of califa. A subsect of the Draco Paladin religion.

Chapter 9: Something beautifully sinister.

He gazed deeply into her eyes, a gentle warmth flowing from those normally critical and raptor like chocolate orbs that sparked something in the innermost depths of her soul. A hand reached up to caress the side of her cheek, his thumb slowly stroking her face.

Soon, lips come forward pressing to hers as their bodies find a way to clasp tightly. Somehow clothing had disappeared as though but a thought and the two lovers were bound together in an ancient right of passion, heat, and deepest love that could set the world on fire.

His strong masculine hands, calloused and hard, touched her in a decidedly soft and casual manner. He excited and enflamed her every sense with his caresses and deep but soft murmurs as they held each other close.

Their noses softly stroke each other, as her hands reach behind him and claw catlike at his well muscled back. His body hard with all the training and combat he had faced.

As he entered her she thought she would explode in a volcanic eruption the likes of which had never been witnessed in the history of the world..

"Chloe.." his soft warm loving voice called to her.

She murmured and moaned softly in response, "Oh.. Scott.."

"Chloe...?" came his voice again.. this time a little more insistent. Her body convulsing as rapturous waves of erotic force washed through her.

"OH SCOTT!!" she cried out with every bit of strength left in her.. and then.

Her eyes snapped open and she bolted up in bed. Sweat drenching her, along with a few tell tale fluids of another kind.

At her door stood a dark figure with brightly shining eyes filled with deep concern. The figure ghosted into her room and knelt by her bedside. "Chloe.. are you ok? I heard you shouting my name!"

The blond girl flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet and shook her head, "Uh.. um.. i'm fine.. really.. hehe."

Scott blinked at her in concerned, if clueless, confusion and asked, "Did you have a bad dream? Wanna talk about it?"

Chloe's eyes widened comically and clutched her pillow to her chest, "N-no no! Everything's fine! Just had a little um.. dream is all. Nothing to worry yourself over. ahaha.. haa..hehe.."

Scott smiled tentatively and it almost broke her heart. She could count on one hand the number of times he'd actually smiled since she'd known him. Usually it was just something directed at Maribeth, or the dog. "Ok.. try to get some sleep then? If you can.."

She smiled back shyly and nodded, but before he left he sniffed the air and quirked an eyebrow.

"Man.. every night. We have to find out where that smell's coming from. None of the other rooms have this problem. Do you think we need to find you somewhere else to sleep?"

Chloe turned beet red, the unintended implications washing over her, and wondered just how he could be so clueless. "No, no.. it's fine.. i'm used to it by now.."

Scott nodded. "Yeah, if you say so..."

As Scott left the room and just before he closed the door he said, "Chloe.. i'm here if you ever need me for anything. ok? Don't hesitate to come visit me if you have any more dreams. i've been having a lot of very vivid ones of late myself."

Chloe managed to turn a slightly darker shade of red, despite being able to give a tomato a run for its money. She pressed her pillow over her face and stifled a scream of mortification, embarassment and frustration. How could he be so damned clueless?

-----

As Scott turned away from Chloe's room he quirked his eyebrow. What an odd woman, he thought as he glided silently away.

He went to gather up his tools. As usual he couldn't sleep and decided to work on his armor. He'd need something better than simple cloth. It was becoming too dangerous to risk that anymore. It got damaged too easily.

Something drew him to the concept of plated mail armor. An idea for it had struck him suddenly a few days earlier. He was going to finish hardening and blackening the little oak bands he had cut, and then laquer that before adding little pieces of sheet metal onto each section.

He'd hook those together with small linking pieces of metal, probably tiny washers, and have himself a decent set of armor at last. He'd considered taking some body armor off a dead soldier or swat team member, but something about that bugged him.

He had developed an aversion for armor or weapons that failed their former owners. A little obsessive maybe, and definitely anal retentive, but it just made him uncomfortable.

He did liberate a kevlar vest from an abandoned swat vehicle though as his new underarmor to be worn over a thinner padded garment, instead of the original excessively bulky style sewn cloth padding. All he'd need is the mail mesh he was trying to make, and soon he'd have his armor.

He figured at the rate he was working, his new armor plus a few improvements, could be field ready in a few weeks.

Someday he might happen across a sporting goods store that has a shark mail suit lying around, and he'd upgrade, but till then he'd work with what he had.

After extensive field testing, he planned on making armor for all the inhabitants of his little island paradise.

---------

The days passed relatively peaceful amongst the inhabitants of the island. They worked, they fished, they lived. They even laughed. Russell the dog got better, and started spending time with everyone again.

Jenna, came down and intermingled amongst the residents. Even Scott managed to occasionally crack a smile. Though he'd deny it, if they were to mention it.

John recounted the story of batman more than a few times. To the great amusement of all, Scott included. How John had thought his life was over.

A bunch of racist bandits had cornered him in the abandoned lumber mill that Scott had been occasionally frequenting for lumber or machinery. He'd come out of the shadows, wearing black, nothing but his eyes showing and a big splotch of yellow paint on his chest.

He'd taken out the marauders in a stealthy manner one at a time.

John watched in fascination, as the last three thugs had him cornered and suddenly two of them dropped with a knife in the back of their necks. One, two, both fall down.

The boss of this now defunct gang of would be hijackers and rapists spun around and stared into the shadows darkness, as John called it.

The bearded idiot whipped out his pistol and started to point it at the apparition, but the man in black simply stepped out of the way as this occurred and disappeared behind a corner.

Jessie simms, the bandit in question called out for his 'boys' but of course no one answered. Finally he spun back to John and growled at him gutterally. "I don't know what the fuck's goin on.. but you and that fruitcake are both gonna die!"

Zwip! A hard metal ball nailed Jessie in the side, and he screamed in pain. One of his floating ribs had obvious been tagged and probably was now broken. Hissing in outrage he whipped his gun out towards the direction the metal ball had come from and then found himself face first in the floorboards.

His gun skittered out of his grasp and slid under a nearby work bench.

Painfully rolling to his back, he gazed up at the dark figure before him, that had somehow manifested itself out of nowhere.

He grabbed a knife from his vest, and tried to lunge at the yellow splotch on the man's leather coat, but found himself easily disarmed, with a iron grip against his windpipe. He could barely breath, but managed to croak out, "What the fuck are you?!"

Shining eyes narrowed, and a face that would haunt the bandit the rest of his short life leaned forward as it spoke. "I'm batman."

Jessie the bandit seemed to convulse for a second, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Low moans could be heard now, all the noise from the conversation having drawn a crowd shambled towards the abandoned building.

The black clad man, turned to john and said, "We have to go. NOW."

John widened his uninjured eye and nodded before saying, "Whatever you say batman.. whatever you say."

The little group howled everytime he said that, because he'd widen his eyes and nod his head in a comical fashion.

Yes, those were golden times, filled with love, laughter, and hope. They'd obviously last forever..

---

A shrouded figure stood just inside the wood line of the shore, staring out at the island with its barely heard voices, and laughter. In a world of perpetual silence, this was a bastion of light and hope.

How it despised them. These meat creatures that harmed the mother, these betrayers. It had searched for months attempting to find the source of the disturbance in its domain. It could smell hope like a rotting carcass at high noon in July.

There would be no laughter for these creatures. They deserved no joy, no peace. They could have no hope of better days. The mother cried deep within herself at their constant betrayal and they would not be allowed to profane her any longer.

The figure began to walk forward only to stop at the shore. The tiny nearly imperceptible waves lapping at the shore. These betrayers depended on the tears of the mother to protect them from his wrath. Shameful..

It placed a deathly white foot upon the water and then another. Step by step it began a slow glide towards the little encampment. The cancerous sore in the body of his beautiful darkness.

As it set foot upon the tiny island, plants withered and died. Prey animals skittered away out of fear at its passing, and the branches of trees drew back as though frightened.

The guard at the tiny tower, never knew the figure existed as it was foolishly sleeping.

As it reached the wall it slowly rose into the air and then stood atop the twelve foot high barrier.

It would be so easy. These who had betrayed the mother would have no resistance against his song. The figure began to sing a slow, rolling dirge. A thing that no ear could hear, but could be felt in the deepest part of the soul of any living being.

A little blond haired betrayer was playing in the makeshift garden, having tea in the moonlight when she began to cry. She didn't know why but suddenly she was so sad.

The betrayer in the tower began crying in his sleep, and hugged himself in fear. It was having a nightmare, a horrible dream of open mouths that tore at the flesh.

The figure's song was suddenly cut off by the loud outcry of a betrayer from the doorway of the main building.

This betrayer had spoken with such conviction and force that the spectre silenced itself immediately. It had spoken a word. The language was unfamiliar to the ancient being but it knew that such a tonality and outcry signaled the speaking of a name.

The little betrayer ran to this much larger creature of its kind and cried. The ancient spectre gazed down curiously at this scene.

No one here should have been able to withstand its song. Yet, here was someone who not only withstood it, but was even now staring around wide eyed as though hunting for something.

A moment later the shadow figure realized the truth. Despite all possibility this particular betrayer sensed its presence. A thrill of force washed over it's ancient eternal form as the creature turned its gaze directly on the spot where it resided and stared.

The ancient shadow noted that while the betrayer could still not see it, it most definitely knew it was there.

A loud cry erupted from the betrayer and the sleeping guard awoke from its dream, to the amazement of the spectre. How was this possible? Once a creature succumbed to its song it never awoke again.

From the house groggy answering cries erupted, and other betrayers, less aware than the one below poured out a moment later, half dressed in their false hides. They wielded those firesticks, and desecrated treelimbs with the bones of the mother attached to them.

Its song would not be enough it now knew.

This island's betrayers had a champion that could defeat it.

Swiftly and silently as death itself the shadow slipped away back across the river.

Once there it quickly sent out a command. Twenty zombies in various states of decay flowed out of the nearby woods and stood in a semi circle around it. More could be heard in the far distance, each moving towards the location of their 'father'.

Finally, the spectre spoke, its voice as emotionless and cold as the grave, "My children, come.. we have plans to make."

As one the undead 'children' turned a deathly gaze upon the island, their eyes taking on an eerie gleam in the moonlight.

The spectre turned and glided towards the deeper woods, to its chambers the children following behind at a steady pace.

-------

Whelp, there we have it. I have either not lost my readership, or gained some new members. Chapter nine complete.

Who is this dark spectre? What exactly is the mother? Why are the humans betrayers to that mother? All this and more.. to come.


	10. Dreams

Chapter 10: Dreams

A little boy is walking down a steep incline in a cave. Random bits of phospherous and softly glowing lichen. Though it is a place of slithering serpents, shadows, and ancient rot, the child is unaffraid. In fact the child is happily playing and skipping merrily along.

He hadn't visited mother in ever so long and he missed her quite terribly. She'd been feeling poorly of late and he'd come to cheer her up.

Down, down into the earth the happy child of light skipped into the darkness. He stopped skipping only when he heard crying. Soft sobs, and softer whispered words of pain.

He ran into the room and skidded to a stop when he saw his mother crying. His lips refused to work for a moment as he stared at this sight. She'd always been so happy and filled with love. A love she shared for everything that walked or crawled.

"Mother? Why are you crying?" the little boy asked. His chocolate brown orbs shining in the darkness, as he too started to cry a little.

She stopped suddenly and looked at him a small smile crossing her lips. "Hope! It's been so long my sweet boy, where have you been?"

The little man in training smiled happily upon seeing his mother smile back and said, "I've just been playing with friends! I'm sorry, have I been making you sad by not being around more mother?"

The matronly woman who was now revealed to be quite stunning in her beauty truly smiled this time, the tears beginning to dry a little. "Oh bless your little heart sweety, you've been trying to cheer up the other children?"

"Yep! They seemed to need it too, they're always sad and depressed and even fighting each other. It's so sad mother. I'm sorry I haven't been around as much.. please don't be sad! I think i'd die if you kept being sad!" exclaimed the little boy before running over to hug his mother.

The smile on the woman's face beamed brightly, actually seeming to light up this chamber in the earth.

Her smile died down a little a moment later though, "Your brothers have been playing with the other children too, sweety.. but I think maybe they've been a bit rough."

The little boy pulled away and slowly forming tears began to edge around his eyes, "Those big bullies are always so mean to them. Hmph! They always think they know best."

Mother smiled at her sweet little hope and said, "Well, sometimes they do go a little overboard don't they honey? Maybe you should go talk to them? Your older brother Silence isn't that far away. i'm sure he'd love to see you?"

Hope winced and drew back a little, "But.. mother...! Silence is soooo creeepy! He's always playing with those dead things!" whined the boy. He loved his brother dearly, but he was a freak.

His mother laughed a little at that, "Well, true, but you know why he does that don't you my little hope?"

"Cuz, he can't get a girlfriend?" snarked the little boy.

"HOPE! That's mean spirited! Is that the kind of thing those other children are teaching you?" asked his mother incredulously. Her little boy had never said such things before.

Hope had the goodness of heart to blush and apologize. Mean sarcasm wasn't really something he was accustomed to using often. Even if secretly he did wonder if his brother Silence only played with dead things because he couldn't find a girlfriend.

-------

Scott bolted out of bed, his breath labored and feeling disoriented. That stupid dream again. Every night since the attack by whatever that was he'd been having that same dream. That woman in his dream didn't look at all like his mother so he didn't quite understand why he would keep calling her that.

None of it made any sense to him.

He glanced over at the little alarm clock and noted it was only three am. He'd want to wake up in a few more hours, He planned to Scout the forest to see if he could find whatever it was that had attacked two weeks ago.

----

Hammerhead yawned and stretched a little as the sun came up. He'd be on duty at the guard tower soon and he was getting a little breakfast before hand.

He reached a tattooed hand up to open a cupboard and begin searching for cheerios. They always seemed to disappear whenever he wanted some. It was some sort of caucasian conspiracy he'd convinced himself.

He muttered, "Screw the asian dude, no cheerios for you." as he kept rattling around in the cupboard. Sure, he could simply turn on a light, but that required him to stop looking. He'd gotten the name 'hammerhead' for several reasons though, all of them legitimate.

After a moment he found the object of his morning culinary affections and cackled happily. He spun around to head towards the table and came face to face with a fully armored and outfitted Scott.

The box of cheerios flew from his hands into the air as he tried to jump onto the little counter behind him. It took him a moment to realize who this was and then he exclaimed while breathing hard, "Holy shit man! Don't do that!"

Scott handed him back the box of cheerios that he'd caught as they descended and nodded. "I'll endeavour to be more careful."

"Y-yeah man.." stammered the former gang member.

The armored man pivoted and moved towards the fridge to get his own breakfast, then settled down at the table to eat opposite of hammerhead.

"S-so.. you goin somewhere.. today?" asked the somewhat buff asian man.

Scott nodded. "I have to find out what attacked us a while back."

Hammerhead nodded but asked, "Yeah man but how? That thing or whatever could be anywhere?"

The resident knight of the isle nodded again, then between bites of deer sausage said, "True, but I have to start looking anyway. I'm thinking it'll probably be in the deep woods. I've never come across anything like that on the outskirts when i've hunted on shore."

The cheerio devouring man took on a critical look, "Do you want any help with that?"

Scott thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. "You might be able to help at least, with your skills and background, but.. if anything attacks again the others would be next to helpless with both of us gone."

Hammerhead sighed whether sadly or in relief, who knew. He had some mid-level martial arts training, and was used to a good fight since he'd been in an all asian street gang. Sure, he was a statistic but the way he thought about it, mostly it would be violent gangs that had survived. Which included pockets of the military.

They were armed, aggressive, and used to working as a team. It would be the rare situation to find someone with absolutely no survival skills or support that still lived, and street gangs had both.

"So we doin buisness as usual while you're gone?" he asked.

Scott quirked an eyebrow and then nodded. "Yeah i'd suppose so. I mean not much else to do really. heh."

---------------

_In the deeper woods..._

A fortnight the shadow had spent cultivating the seeds of its wrath into these thirty of his children. Stronger, faster, more agile than their brethren. The spectre had even returned to them some semblance of their former humanity in the form of useful memories.

Many more had come than the thirty it had chosen, but those would not do. The ancient shadow needed the worst of the former betrayers to fulfill its plans. It kept the murderers, the thieves, all those filled with the scent of the blood and despair of their former race upon their souls.

The rest he sent out to continue their 'lives'. They had been less than adequate to the task. Many would have been random housewives and children. The more or less true victims of the zombie infestation.

In the two weeks since it had began remaking these chosen of its children, they had shifted and changed. Some had become elongated with longer arms and sharp claws. Some had shrunk becoming shorter but far stronger.

A few had become giants with limited intelligence compared to their new brethren, but far outstripping them in raw power.

One of his chosen had sparked though, and the ancient figure had momentarily almost been certain it had felt an emotion deep inside. If it had not been so fleeting, perhaps such a thing might have been called pride.

This most glorious of its children would be its champion. A creature capable of weaving the flows of spirit and dark emotion to combat that blasted champion of the betrayers.

For a moment thoughts of that particular betrayer filtered through its multi-millenium mind and it had a strange feeling of familiarity again. It almost thought that it knew this betrayer, yet it could not quite place the beast in its mind.

Soon my children, soon you shall feast. The horrible creatures that burned, ravaged, and mutilated mother in their arrogance shall feel the wrath of her true children. The betrayers will be made to pay for all the horrors they unleashed on her. Father be damned.

The ancient figure laughed then. It wasn't a heartfelt laugh of joy, nor truly one of emotion. It was a simple dark thing with no life to it. The skin of any creature foolish enough to hear it would have crawled and bid them run in terror.

----

Well there we have chapter 10. Sure, it was more or less filling in a bit and far too short, but I felt that it would add a bit more complexity to the situation.

Oh and to shadowsintherain88. Good guesses, but you're a little off. :P

What is really going on you might ask?

Now that.. is a secret!


	11. The Greater Darkness

The smell of ancient decay, and chill in the air would have sent anything living from the place in a near panic. It was old, long before civilization began. One of the lairs of the elder darkness. The being known as brother Silence.

A strange being to be sure, often maligned as being an 'evil' force, Silence had also been regarded highly in some eras as the bringer of ultimate peace.

The primordial spirit of eternal night, and serenity, Brother Silence had many names throughout the world. Thanatos, the angel of death, the grim reaper, all were names of this ancient being.

Many call him demon unjustly. In truth, he is simply an aspect of creation, performing a needed duty. It is only through Brother Silence's final kiss that the true peace at the end of a long hard life is reached. Silence was the ultimate in non-bias, for he cared not if you were emperor or new born babe. When it was time, your soul was reaped, and rest from life's toil your reward.

For untold millions of years that had been the way of things. Yet, over time the other advents had become restless. When Father unveiled his plans to Mother for a new race, similar to them in many ways, with their own spirit and sensibilities all of their children rejoiced.

All save one. Brother perfect who was the most powerful of the children was greatly disturbed. He had the power of foresight at that time to allow him to see the possibilities. Children who were like Father and mother almost completely, would inevitably gain the ability to change reality with their thoughts.

Brother Perfect abided a time, to see how things would be. A mere million years after the inception of these new children, and he already knew.

The new children were evil, willful, and lacking in discipline. They venerated mother and father in one one breath, and cursed them with another. They killed each other for the least reason, and performed horrifying acts against themselves, father's spirit, and the body of mother.

Brother Perfect, ever the most sensitive to such things slowly grew restless, and finally outright hateful towards these children. In a bold move, he gathered up many of the lesser spirits and tried to convince Father to cast these betrayers from his and mother's beautiful garden.

When Father would not allow for that, as he had other plans Brother Perfect slowly went completely insane. Believing he knew better than father he led his minion spirits in a war against the children of earth in an attempt to cleanse their sickness from the body of the mother once and for all.

Ultimately father was forced to intervene, but the damage was done. The perfectly balanced paradise filled with the love of mother and father had been irreparably damaged. Yes, they could have joined together and reformed it from the beginning, but all the work would have been lost.

Brother Perfect had become a thing of bitter hatred and cruel malevolent insanity. Gone was the beauty and wisdom he once represented. Now only darkness, and lust for the destruction of the children of earth remained.

Father was forced to create a place far beneath the surface of mother's body to house him. A place akin to a celestial 'rubber room' a spiritual padded cell to seperate him from the rest of creation, allow him time to reflect.

The spiritual holding cell turned out not to be quite up to the task, and some of Brother Perfect's insanity did leak out little by little. These random evil rantings became demonic spirits, and nightmares that plagued the children by blighting the forests, drying the streams, and mutating the animals into monstrosities.

In time some of the children began to feel the same as brother perfect. They came to hate life and themselves. They longed only to kill and torture their own kind. These poor children, horribly corrupted by brother perfect had to be removed from the natural cycle until the insanity left their system.. with nowhere else for them, they were placed within the confines of the very same cell as their tormentor.

The children of earth for many millenia knew only despair and fear. Brother Silence worked over time to collect all the souls for safe keeping as the children began dying in record numbers due to the long icy winter that began after the 'perfect' war.

Father and mother, seeing that something had to be done drew together once more. They decided it was time to birth one more child. A child that could uplift the most downcast spirit. One that could fight back any level of despair and bring strength to those that needed it.

Upon the birth of this beautiful new child they proclaimed him 'hope'.

An excerpt from the book of time and seasons. Reputed to be a possible 'natural' history of the world.

Chapter 11: The Greater Darkness

The deeper woods held many secrets in these days. Scott was certain that there must be things more dangerous than the undead here. He had been coming here daily for two months, and been attacked several times.

Each time had disturbed him more. The zombies seemed to be more intelligent by the day. He had been trapped several times and barely escaped with his life.

Today for instance, he had just managed to elude a zombie search party. As strange as it seemed from what he'd known of them for months, these particular members of the undead ranks hunted him in stealth and almost seemed to be harrying him towards some unknown location.

A few would pop out of nowhere and attack, and after two or three were slain, they would actually flee into the woods. It was incredibly nerve racking, and made him fearful for the lives of those he had chosen to protect.

-------

'_Lockheed, take Ghambol and Hollock to the ravine. That foolish human is almost there.'_ came the mental command from the one that would be known as 'The Greater Darkness'. As the lieutenant of Father Silence, he ruled with total authority his lesser brethren.

The ten foot tall monstrosity that received this command growled at The Greater Darkness and said, "Why do we keep taking orders from a runt like you. You never do anything but sit here and bark orders."

The shrouded creature of average height glared harshly at the brutish giant and thrust it's clawed hand forward. A wave of raw destructive force lashed out and hurled the massive Lockheed back, crushing him brutally against the wall of the earth chamber.

'_Two things Lockheed. Two things you will not do. You will NOT speak here, save with your inner voice, as your speech disturbs our father. The other thing is that you will NOT question my command you over grown undead monkey.'_ counciled the not so ancient, but definitely powerful creature.

'_Yes.. Greater Darkness..'_ moaned the former man. It could actually feel pressure on it's skull as tiny fractures began to form. It wondered for a brief moment if it's 'master' intended to destroy it.

The Greater Darkness turned away abruptly and faced a blood red symbol on the cave wall. The wave of force dissipating. '_Go, perform your tasks. Do not return without the heart of our enemy.'_

_'By your leave..'_ murmured the creature before loping off towards the entrance. Two much shorter but still very strong creatures joined him a moment later.

Lockheed smiled grimly, yellow fangs glinting in the mid-morning light. The giant could already taste that sweet living flesh. He would enjoy hearing the human's screams as he paid with his life, for the indignities he had to suffer this day.

-------

_meanwhile back at the ranch... well island really.._

Maribeth was playing with her tea-set and Mr. Bear, her special friend that only she could see, in the garden while waiting for her Scott to come back. She hated how he had to leave everyday. He had to keep returning to those icky woods and when he came back he was always so beat up.

It was just awful.

The little girl was musing while she played when she heard a voice she recognized very well.

"Mari..!" came the feminine voice. A voice she'd longed to hear for so very long.

The little girl called excitedly out, "Mummy! I'm here, where are you?!"

"Come to the bank sweety, i'm in the boat." said the voice, a little distantly this time.

Maribeth gaped and then ran towards the sound of the voice. Chloe called out to her as she zipped past, but the little girl didn't stop.

"Mummy!" exclaimed the girl as she rounded the corner of the house. There was her mummy, right there in the most beautiful boat she'd ever seen! She had missed her so very much!

Maribeth's mother smiled beatifically with a subtle hint of teeth and reached her arms out towards her lovely little girl. Arms that seemed just a little too long for some reason.

Chloe came barreling around the corner just in time to see little Maribeth step onto an incredibly shoddy looking raft. What terrified her most though was what was on the raft. It had to be at least seven foot tall, and it's arms reached down to the logs that made up the raft.

"Maribeth!" shrieked Chloe as she ran full tilt towards the girl.

Suddenly the illusion dispelled itself and the little girl found herself in the waiting arms of the most hideous looking thing she'd ever seen.

A shot rang out from the tower, hitting the creature dead center in the forehead. Dougie, currently on duty had heard the outcry and acted to save the little girl. To their horror though, the head that now sported a perfect hole through it's center, snapped back into place and revealed a feral grin.

Even more disturbing was it's voice as the thing actually spoke, "Naughty naughty.. you silly meat. I'm going to have SUCH a headache."

Maribeth shrieked in terror, as the small raft launched and angled itself out towards the current that would take it to shore. No hand seemed to guide it.

Dougie seemed to be trying to line up another shot, but the creature to their horror yanked Maribeth into the air and used her tiny little body as a shield against the apparently useless bullets.

Deranged laughter could be heard from the creature on the raft, as it meandered towards the shore.

Laughter, barely heard over the cries of fear and outrage coming from the small island community.

-----------

Scott panted heavily. The constant onslaught of these undead bastards didn't allow him a moments peace, or respite. He'd been harried into the beginnings of what seemed to be a rocky looking ravine.

Pressed farther into this obvious death trap, he was not surprised at all when a series of convenient landslides boxed him in with no way out but to climb over.

What disturbed him was the ring of zombies that appeared over the rim the ravine. There had to be at least twenty of them.

Scott hefted his reinforced sledge-hammer and took a deep breath as they all walked forward and fell the fifteen or so feet to the floor of the ravine.

While disturbed he had no real fear of this situation. Whether they were becoming slower and weaker, or he simply was getting stronger he didn't know. What he did know was that he knew he'd survive this. These things couldn't beat him.

He raced forward and swung his trusty weapon with calculated force, crushing the skull of the nearest zombie. He'd killed three in this simple manner before the rest had managed to get to their feet.

Their numbers did them only a small amount of good as Scott backed up, and fired off a few of his heavy metal balls, breaking the heads on a couple more in quick succession. He'd had the idea for those balls months back, thinking that if they were heavy enough they could crack a skull and they took much less skill to nail someone with than a knife.

He'd thrown a many a rock in his youth, and hitting a head was much easier than a tiny aluminum can. Even if the head did move a little.

He continued this method of assault until he ran out of ammo, and half his problem was solved.

By now though, he was being backed into a corner. Ten, maybe twelve more of these undead idiots to go Scott looked at his situation and grunted.

These things weren't grouped tightly, but had the area covered. They had every intention of forcing him against the walls for some reason.

They might be getting smarter, but apparently not very good at strategy yet, despite the trap. They'd have much better success trying to surround him.

When his back hit the wall he smirked. Their numbers would be useless now that he didn't have to watch his back.

His smirk faded when suddenly a pair of large craggy hands ripped out of the ravine wall and gripped him tight. Mad laughter came from the top of the ravine as the biggest zombie Scott had ever seen peered down at him with shimmering black eyes.

Scott's chest screamed in agony as the bones began to compress due to the stress of those large powerful arms that seemed to take on the color of the earth itself.

Insanely Scott slammed his head back in desperation, and to his relief found a meaty resistance instead of solid rock.

Those reaching arms loosened slightly, and the would be hero of our story, spun forward using, one arm and the torque from this movement to throw his attacker over him and into a nearby zombie, that had managed to be only a few feet away.

He followed this up with a wide spinning motion with his hammer, sweeping an arc outwards that knocked the next zombie off its feet.

Seeing a brief opening, he lunged for that escape hole, only to find his leg caught by yet another pair of rock like hands.

Knocked to the ground, and struggling with his feet to break free of that deathly vice like grip, Scott never noticed the giant leaping from the ravine's rim to the ground below.

The zombies nearly on top of him, the man who'd spent the last several months in silent hunting knew he had no choice. He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out the gun he'd liberated all those months ago in the first days of this nightmare.

A weapon he'd practiced with for accuracy but never allowed himself to use in combat, until now.

Safety off, Scott pulled the trigger on the hand cannon that was his .45, aiming at the leering gray and brown face of the creature holding his leg.

A look of almost comical shock washed over its features just before its skull exploded into random fragments.

Even given that the creature was now once again deceased, it still took Scott several precious seconds and two more shots from his weapon on the nearing zombies, including the other rock zombie, to free himself.

His hammer in hand he limped away from the mass, and finished emptying his gun on the tightly packed number.

He'd had only six bullets in the weapon to begin with, but one hit had been a two-for. As the bullet had traveled through one zombie's head to destroy the brain of one immediately behind it.

Scott dropped the gun, and took a two handed swing at the nearest zombie, barely managing to tag it's chin, but snapped its neck all the same.

As it lay there twitching, Scott gave it a wide berth while attending to his next opponents.

He raised his hammer and lunged forward, only to find the zombies and then himself knocked flat against the ravine wall several feet away. A large rock had come hurtling there way, and only the bodies in front of him had saved the man from being utterly crushed.

He was breathing heavy for a moment, and then felt something gnawing at his armored leg. Scott's hammer slammed down, crushing the skull of the mindless idiot, and then he turned his head towards the horror before him.

It had to be at least ten feet tall. A mountain of muscle, with large yellow fangs that protruded from it's mouth. This was obviously the leader of this band of undead assholes.

Scott barely managed to lean out of the way as another large rock slammed into the spot he'd just occupied. A process that was repeated several times, until two hapless zombies had been crushed by the uncaring beast.

"Heh.. tougher than you look, meat." snarked the monster to Scott's growing horror.

His mouth getting the better of him for once, the young man replied, "When did something as ugly as you learn how to talk?"

The monster's last rock hurtled toward him then, to once again miss the man, and then fall off the wall to crush the skull of a twitching zombie below it.

All the mini-players in this game now out of commission, it was just Scott and the beast mano-a-ugly freako.

"Heh.. i'm going to enjoy devouring you, meat!" snarled the creature as it began running towards Scott, the earth shuddering slightly at its passing.

The man didn't even try to guess what this behemoth must weigh to cause that kind of reaction, as he barely had time to avoid a fist bigger that his skull slamming into the ravine wall with enough force to start another small landslide.

Luckily that landslide fell on the massive creature.

Scott caught his breath a moment, as he stared at the rubble. After a few minutes he shrugged and then walked over to the only still 'living zombie' and crushed the twitching skull.

He started towards the original landslide to try and climb out, when a roar from behind him filled him with an emotion akin to dread.

Flying rock fragments pelted him, before he turned to stare at the now freed monstrosity.

The worst part is that it barely seemed to have taken any damage from the multi-ton rockslide...

He sighed at the sight and then hefted his hammer, "... alright."

--------------

Whelp that was chapter 11. I'm sure most of you might find Scott's defeat of so many zombies as unlikely, but eh. They're not much of a challenge to him now. He's been fighting them in meelee combat for several months, and as such they usually (until now at least) held no surprises.

Add in the fact that they've slowed down considerably and they have physically gotten weaker, and his extensive experiene fighting them. It pretty much takes this many to really cause him problems.

It's always been a major sticking point with me in all those movies and such.

You'd think that if people knew the zombies were slow as hell, they'd wear thick tight fitting clothes when having to leave their little homes, and simply walk a little faster.

The only things that generally get people killed in zombie outbreaks (unless they're return of the living dead, or the dawn of the dead style running zombies) is fear, stupidity, and the selfish jerks around them.

Any reasonable person that can find the strength to fight back the horror such creatures cause, could fend off a small pack of these shamblers. Heck, unless they're boxed in, you could simply walk away a little faster.

If you hate my inclusion of stronger undead, then oh well. Flame me. This story only has a few more chapters left anyway. :P

so.. let the hate flow through you.. yess... yesss...

Oh and to those who forgot he had a gun since her never seemed to use it... shame on you for forgetting such an obvious plot device. No gummy bears for you.

He prefers not making much noise, because he's always suspected the zombies are drawn by sound.


	12. Brother Wolf

Chapter 12: Brother wolf.

"He's fading." came a soft almost musical feminine voice. A familiar voice.

Another voice, one that didn't register came then. A masculine baritone sound "Yes, he hasn't realized the truth yet."

A soft feminine sigh seemed to flow outwards in the darkness. "We'll have to help him.. then won't we?"

"Seems we must.. but we can't show favoritism." came the masculine voice, a hint of sorrow entering into it.

The feminine voice sang out into the darkness then, soon joined by the rich baritone sound. Any who listened could begin to picture a strange creature, one of fang, fur, and claw. Power, wisdom, and mighty strength.

Though the song had no words, still the image it would cast within any listening mind would have been clear.

As this song sang into the darkness the image would change. Sometimes a man with proud shifting features, and sometimes again a great grey creature of fang and claw.

_"I hear you..."_came a thought from the darkness, before another song echoed outward a long lonely wail that any who heard would know. Brother Wolf was on the trail.

------

Scott gasped desperately for air as his neck stretched tight. The giant zombie that had come for him had been avoided several times, but finally a strong clawing attack from it had connected with the armored man and slammed him into the ravine wall.

Stunned for a moment it had caught up with him and was now holding his head in one clawed hand, and using that grip to hold scott several feet off the ground.

He could feel the muscles and tendons in his neck stretching as the weight of his body and armor pulled at him.

Scott tried feebly to kick or punch, but his reach wasn't great enough. Soon a meaty fist flew out to slam into his sternum, cracking several pieces of his armors plating and two of his ribs.

He gasped, and blood spat out of his mouth.

"Heh, stupid meat. I can't believe you caused so much trouble. You're nothing! Nothing!" shouted the creature happily as it swung Scott back and forth, and punched him again.

Out of desperation Scott reached up and slammed his hands against the creature's forearms again, hoping this time it would loosen its grasp.

The giant snarked, "Oh give it up already. You're too pathetic to ever hurt me."

Scott's mind was going numb. His breathing heavily labored and he felt like he might have internal injuries as he kept tasting blood in his mouth.

He mouthed something as he was loosing strength and beginning to have trouble speaking.

"Huh.. What was that..?" the giant asked, bringing Scott close enough to hear.

"I..said...F-fuck.. you." Scott whispered, kicking out with both feet using all the strength he had remaining. It was to no avail however as he'd grown too weak and the monster was just too powerful.

Scott found himself slung heavily away clearing a great distance and landing hard. His breath once again knocked from him, he fell unconscious and continued to bleed.

"I'll enjoy eating you alive!" roared the monster as it started lumbering over to him.

A loud howl sound from the top of the ravine startled it though.

The monster turned and looked. There on the rim stood the largest wolf it had ever seen. That thing had to be the size of a freaking station wagon.

Soon after the howl several answering calls came. All around the rim stood wolves and even some feral dogs of various breeds. Dogs and wolves all gazing with inhuman animal eyes down at the monster in the ravine.

"What..?" asked the behemoth before the creatures of the wild descended down the various rock-slides nearest them and all raced for him, deathly angry snarls upon their faces.

The giant roared and swatted and some, critically wounding one and injuring several. The sheer mass of furious canine forms overwhelmed it eventually though. Slowly like a normal pack of wolves fighting an encroaching bear they wore the beast down.

And as it was on its knees swatting heavily at them, its legs torn, and chest ripped, the great white wolf descended into the ravine and stood across from it.

To the monster's horror it spoke, "Stupid meat. I'll enjoy eating you, even if you aren't alive."

Lockheed the giant zombie, screeched in absolute terror as the family car sized denizen of the deeper woods bared its fangs and lunged for him ending it's unlife in one decisive undeniable snap of its jaws.

Making short work of the beast the great wolf turned to the fallen human and tilted its head. One of the less intelligent members of it's pack whimpered out a desire to eat the fallen man, but found it's head swatted brutally.

"We don't eat family."

Some low whines and a few nips at exposed flanks silenced the naysayers. No one would go against Father Wolf.

One of the feral dogs in the pack wandered over and casually sniffed the man and whined.

_"Yes, freckles, he will need to recieve aid soon or he will die."_

A few mournful howls escaped lupine and domestic canine throats at that statement.

"As will our fallen sister." stated the wolf as he gazed over at the badly injured grey she-wolf.

The wolf made a strange dipping motion and its mass began to shift. A moment later a tall man with proud but indistinct racial features stood in its place. A great white fur cloak, loin cloth, and spear his only possessions.

The man glanced at his pack and a thought passed between them. With loud yips and yowls they raced off to find what they needed. long strong fallen branches, vines, and various other things. They would need enough to carry the fallen wolf, the man, and possibly one of the dogs.

Freckles so hoped the man survived, his smell reminded her of the delicious small brown discs with sweet chips her old female human used to make. Yep, he had cookies written all over him, and she wanted one.

------------------

Chloe hugged herself in her room, not sure what to do. Jake had come by trying to cheer her up, but he'd left soon after.

How do you cheer someone up when they've just lost what amounts to their child? A child she'd cared for, and played with and grown to love.

"Maribeth.." whispered Chloe softly into the cool night air.

A thought crossed her mind and she shuddered before being racked by sobs. She didn't know if Scott was alive either. He'd been gone a week now, and never once was spotted by the guard.

-----

"He will too come save me!" shouted the little girl before kicking the small troll like creature in the shin.

"Ow! Hey you little brat! I oughta eat that foot!" snapped the small creature. While it hadn't even remotely been injured it was still annoyed. Just who did this little blond git think she was?

"Look, He's dead. Alright, get used to it. You're stuck here with me."

Maribeth looked like she was about to kick him again. Then thought better of it. She didn't want him eating her foot after all. How would she dance with her Scott when he rescued her?

"Why are you in here with me anyway?" asked the little girl curiously.

The creature shrugged. "They call me reject for a reason. Apparently my attitude wasn't right for the cause or something."

Maribeth blinked and then blinked again. "Um.. your attitude?"

The small grey creature nodded, "Yeah, I asked why we were trying to kill off all the humans and stuff. It seemed stupid. I mean. What would we eat? A cow..? blech."

The little girl screwed up her nose at the idea that he wanted to eat people, but realized he wasn't all bad. He wasn't eating her foot after all.

---

Well there was an incredibly small chapter, introducing a few new twists and a big ass wolf. lol.

Feel free to hate on me for being so short, but I just wanted to throw in a few new shifts in the story paradigm.


	13. The Darkness and the Fog

_When I first felt that power burning inside me I wondered just what it was. It was like I had felt this overwhelming emotion I couldn't name and it had been given shape and form by my desire to blow those mother fuckers away. I Just wish I had found it sooner, instead of having to put up with those assholes for those first few weeks.  
_

- A snippet of the remaining files of one 'hammerhead'. No one ever discerned his true identity, but he is considered one of the paladin's truest companions. His whereabouts after the thirteenth advent are still unknown to this day.

-----

Author's notes: Sorry this chapter took so long. I had some issues to deal with home-life wise. ah well. Life happens, and then you flush.

Chapter 13: The darkness and the fog..

A low growl escaped from the jaws of the timber wolf as it gazed defiantly at the beasts before it. Their rotten flesh gave off a stench so sickening even it's cultured taste buds were not enjoying the thought of tasting the morsels before it.

They kept coming, wave after wave. Usually a few at a time, but the trickle of undead kept pouring in.

She could smell the excitement radiating from the flesh of her pack mates. Father wolf had asked them to keep these strange inedible creatures away, and they'd do it.

A blue-grey streak raced out suddenly and lept upon the largest. The eldest of their tribe having decided today was a good day to die apparently. Though the death witnessed was not his own.

A loud piercing howl erupted from her lupine mouth and the rest of the pack followed suit. Then the battle began again.

----

In a shallow cave not too far away, a tall man of indistinct features smeared an herbal concoction upon the open wounds, and badly mangled flesh of his 'brother.'

A soft whine came from his side as freckles seemed distressed by the prone man's disposition.

'_Indeed, he is Freckles. He may not survive till dawn at this rate. Already he slips into the twilight area of brother Silence's domain."_  
Thought the man, to his companion.

Freckles whimpered lightly and rested her head upon her feet. This was horrible. Now she'd never get a cookie.

Scott moaned softly in the fevered sweat that had broken out in him. As he slipped closer to death, the power of that dread spectre began making its presence known inside of him. Working with ever increasing strength to drag his soul down into its domain with finality.

Freckles lifted her head and growled at this. A soft plaintive growl.

"He must find the strength to survive on his own, dear one. We have done all we can." stated the man, before he shimmered lightly and became the wolf.

His giant lupine frame curled around Scott and rested his head near Freckles and the injured she wolf that was still sleeping after her treatment.

------

"What are they doing now?" asked the man, his breath misting in the strangely cool night air. For it to be late summer it sure did get cold at night near here. Maybe it was the river and the large lake?

After gazing through his nvg's for a moment, the man flipped it up onto his helmet and said, "They're just standing guard. I don't see anyone but the two guards in the tower, and those two guys roaming around on that big ass wall of there's."

"Think I should call it in? It's not like they've done anything." asked the man.

"Nah, you know how the s.o.g. gets when someone wakes his ass up."

The men snickered at that for a moment and then they wandered off to their up-armored humvee. They'd catch a few hours of sleep, and call this in in the morning. They were supposed to both stay awake all night, or at best at least take turns, but generally they didn't give a damn.

Base camp wanted to know of any good fortified structures in the area, and these people had the best around.

"Wonder how those fac's will love army life?" snarked private first class Anderson as he leaned back against his incredibly not comfortable seat.

Specialist Jenkins, the one who'd been using the nvg's earlier snorted. "Same as you do."

"Not a whole helluva lot." grumbled the man as he rolled over and tried to cuddle the blue force tracker without much success.

"Get some sleep dick, and don't fuckin start bustin ass like last night." muttered the always irate specialist.

Pfc Anderson snorted then gave a half assed salute and said, "Yes, my captain."

"Fuck that shit, the captain got eaten yesterday." came the mumbled reply of the exhausted former artillery soldier. Everyone was pretty much infantry now. Not that 'everybody' amounted to more than a dozen soldiers that had survived till today.

Anderson blinked tiredly and yawned. "That really happened? I thought it was a beautiful dream man."

"Dude, you're as gay as the captain. Beautiful dream.. fuck.." grunted the man.

The junior soldier yawned and said, "He was really gay?"

"Yeah man, didn't you hear about how he got eaten?" asked Jenkins in reply.

The junior ranked enlisted soldier said "No.. how?"

"Duh, first sergeant was sucking his dick before he turned and bit that shit off." said the man casually as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Anderson broke out into muffled laughter and tears came to his eyes. "You're shittin me right?"

"You go on believin that.. now fuckin shut up and go to sleep."

The private first class smirked a little then grinned to himself and adjusted his position. A little mental count down and then an eerily soft brrrrrt.. fled outwards from his general direction.

"GOD DAMMIT ANDERSON!" Screamed Specialist Jenkins as he slapped his helmet hard in anderson's direction.

A gale of laughter erupted from the man under attack by the helmet of righteous anger.

"Oh god, it went down my throat!" howled the specialist in despair as the noxious fumes threatened to make him gag.

"There's more where that came from big boy." teased the lower ranked man as he off-handedly fanned the air towards his supposed senior.

A gagging sound came from the man at that and his helmet lost it's attack strength while he tried to cover his mouth and nose with his unauthorized underarmor shirt.

"I fucking hate you man.." said Jenkins a half hour later after the extremely noxious odor had finally dissipated in the small confines of the vehicle.

"Aww,.. you'll always be special to me.. specialist." snarked the man, as he adjusted his seating again.

"Shut the fuck up with that gay shit.. and lay off the fucking chili mac!" snapped the man irately.

Anderson's only reply was a soft, burrrrppplt

"Oh mother fucker..!" exclaimed Jenkins as he seriously contemplated shooting his brother in arms.

----------------------------

He awoke in darkness. A deep cloying fog had enveloped the area.

Scott sat up, surprisingly light and looked around. The entire area had a strange black and white quality like an old movie. There seemed to be no color anywhere.

Stranger still, he saw no source of light and yet he could still see.

He looked down and noticed he was naked, but lacked the multitude of tiny scars that had formed on him from prolonged usage and wear of heavy armor pressing against his skin. He was as white as a sheet, and his musculature stood out as though he were cast of marble instead of flesh.

Slowly he became aware of a strong noise nearby, and he moved towards it. In the deep fog he could barely make out the outlines of trees, and rocks.

He steered around these as best he could, but still managed to run into a few things. Though these run ins did not hurt for some reason.

He could hear rustling all around him, as though something moved in this fog. As though it were hiding secrets everywhere.

The rustling became shuffling, and the shuffling lead to soft moaning. All of which came closer to him by the moment.

The hair on the back of his head stood on end, as he realized the implications. He was alone, naked and unarmed in a forest of the dead.

He picked up his pace, moving towards the original sound he had heard. A soft lilting noise akin to music but not quite what a normal person might consider as such.

More like a sensation or emotion than a noise.

Scott found himself suddenly on an old dirt road as he left these woods. The fog thinning slightly.

Unfortunately this did nothing to assuage his fears as this thinning revealed dozens of dark figures all around him moving closer.

Soft unholy whispers began flowing into his ears. Words of despair, fear and pain. These words struck at his very will to live. They beckoned him to go down into the long lonely darkness with them. To give in and join with them.

Scott turned away and ran along the dirt path he had found, diving past one of the dark figures and rolling with the momentum.

Behind him, he could hear the dark whispers coming for him even as he righted himself and kept running.

Off in the hazy distance, beyond a lake sat what looked like a plateau.

He knew instinctively that this plateau housed whatever made the music he was drawn to.

The landscaped flew by in a blurr, as his legs moved as fast as his will would take him. He felt no burning in his lungs, no pain in his legs or side.

It was as though his body knew no limits. As though he had no body at all.

The whispers behind him grew quieter with distance but never ceased. New whisperings of dark things began to come from nearby.

More of these creatures must be near.

The song was stronger now, as he could finally recognize it as such.

It seemed to have no words, but it spoke to the very core of his being.

In a world of darkness and despair, it filled him with light, a sense of hope and faith in a better tomorrow. He found strength in that song, and it fed his will. He picked up speed.

As he neared the lake, he saw a boat and beside it a dark robed figure with a long pole.

Scott ran up as far as he would allow and then called out to the dark figure. "Who are you?"

The figure pointed turned to the side and pointed at the plateau, then turned back and gestured at the boat.

The man figured this meant he was the way to reach the plateau but he couldn't trust this. "What is this place i've found myself in..? Who.. WHAT are you?"

The figure stood there with no answers. Scott muttered to himself but when he heard the dark whispering getting louder, he knew that he had no choice. He had to take a ride with the ferry man.

A thought occurred to him before that though. "What'll it cost me to get a ride across?"

The figure tilted what was probably its head at him and then tilted it back. A word appeared in Scott's mind clearly and with distinct finality.

_Mortality.._

The man was more than a little shocked at this, but he had no choice. Did the figure mean it would cost him his life? That's a steep price for a boat ride.

Scott turned as he heard a louder whisper behind him. An enormous dark image in the fog behind him had joined the slowly growing army of spectres.

"Take through... to the other side." said Scott to the ferry man.

The man gestured at the boat and Scott slipped hesitatingly over to it and got in, making certain the robed whatever it was stood in front of him on the boat.

After they'd pushed off Scott chanced a glance back at the bank and saw the dark figures standing there, the fog pulled back enough to show him what they were.

He thought at first they would be zombies. Instead he saw ordinary looking people. Sad and empty. They were forlorn and it seemed to him as though they had lost all hope.

The song grew steadily more powerful as they approached the other side. There was no fog here, but instead he saw a spiraling path of cut stone stairs that seemed to wind around the plateau.

As he got off the boat, the ferry man pointed to the torch lit stairs and then stood silently. His part was done.

Scott turned to look at him and said, "Thank you. I'm sure you don't hear it enough, but thank you."

The figure took a step back at that, as though it had been physically struck. Soon after it righted itself though and then gestured at a different path. One that had been carefully concealed.

"Is that a better path then..?" asked Scott.

The figure nodded and then went still. As though it were a statue.

Scott wandered off in the direction of the shadowed entrance and entered the earthen darkness.

-----

Maribeth glanced over at the grumpy grey creature and sighed. He just didn't get it. "I know you're supposed to watch me, but I have to GO." 

"You're not going anywhere! I keep telling you! You're gonna sit right there and be stuck in here miserable just like me." snapped Reject for the tenth time.

The little blond girl sighed again and whimpered to herself. She really really, had to go.

"Crying won't work!" snarked the little beast harshly.

Maribeth closed her eyes and whispered, "Hurry.. my Scott."

------------------

Hammerhead yawned to himself as he searched the cabinets, once again searching for cheerios. Every morning without fail he searched. Rarely did he find his elusive cereal of choice.

Sure, there were plenty of boxes of corn flakes, and random things of that nature. Fuck all that he needed cheerios.

He was too busy in his search, and too groggy from the shift he'd just pulled on guard, to notice the small canister roll into the room.

He did notice the the pain in his eyes, and the burning in his nostrils a moment later as he screamed. Mucus ran in rivers as he flailed around and ran desperately for the door. His attempts to escape leading him to the outside and directly into the barrel of a M-4 Carbine.

As he staggered around, the single medic in the group of soldiers that had infiltrated and incapacitated the small guard force of their happy group, barked "Flap your arms, and don't touch your face."

It had been rediculously easy to overcome the guards on watch, since they'd been asleep on duty.

Eventually he complied after he began getting clear air into his lungs again. The streams of mucus hanging from his nose, and tears from his eyes made him look a sorry sight indeed.

"Is that all of them?" asked a man in digital camouflage. His ACU's looking fit for a garrison environment as opposed to the field work he'd had to do of late. How anyone could manage to keep such a crisp and clean uniform in days like these would be a story to be heard in and of itself.

"Yes, first sergeant." stated the next highest ranked Nco. Staff Sergeant Greene. 

"Though the dog, seems to be less inclined to behave."

First Sergeant Dent nodded and said, "If it keeps being a problem, then put it down. It's just another mouth to feed anyway."

"Don't you fucking touch Russell!" snapped ol' Dougie from his place on the ground, before getting a boot to the side.

The sergeant Greene shouted, "Watch your fucking mouth and be quiet. You'll speak when we want to know something, otherwise shut the hell up."

The first sergeant smirked and said, "Well, this was easy. This'll make a proper base for us, while we acquisition supplies from the area. Hell, might even make it a permanent camp."

Several of the younger soldiers got excited at that thought. Finally no more moving out at o' dark thirty, never knowing if they'd be alive to reach the next call to halt.

"What manner of new recruits do we have?"

The sergeant checked his note book and said, "Two females, one of which is blind. Six males, the youngest of which is fourteen maybe fifteen, and that dog."

"Hmm, the blind woman might become a liability." stated the first sergeant matter of factly.

Specialist Jenkins nudged pfc Anderson and pointed at Chloe. Then is a harsh whisper, "Bout time we got some tale in the unit. Check out those tits man!"

Chloe overhearing this tried to hug herself a little tighter against the ground. She never thought overly much about her breasts but she was aware that they were viewed as 'large' in general. The only person she wanted to notice them though, was also the only person not here.

"What kind of supplies and equipment have we acquired?" asked the first sergeant, while he patted the strongly reinforced solid wall of concrete.

"There are three heavily uparmored vehicles, apparently a former Hummer of civilian make and two hybrid cars. There's a Barge with five large drums of fuel, and an even dozen more in a storage shed out back. Three generators" began the man, before taking a breath,

. He continued a moment later with, "Five handguns of varying calibur with silencers and scopes. Three rifles, standard hunting variety. Several thousand rounds for each weapon, as well as abundant cleaning supplies for them. One M4, with accompanying clip. As well as a 50. cal with several hundred rounds in the guard tower."

"Add in around a hundred pounds of home made explosives in the form of pipe bombs. Oh, and three medieval sets of armor in varying states of repair, three ACH's and two IBA's. One of which has fully intact SAPI plates."

The first sergeant whistled appreciatively. This little fortress had been a major windfall. More personnel, and some decent equipment. Best of all there was fuel.

He gave a command to radio to base camp and have the officers and support crew move in. The island fort was their's.

-----

The greater darkness paced slowly around the room, his thoughts on the shift in Father Silence's mood. Their creator had become moody of late. Truly a strange occurence since he rarely showed any emotion at all.

Currently, the children were out assaulting the resting place of that betrayer. Curiously enough the local wildlife had risen up against the children and were keeping them at bay.

It made no sense to the undead fiend. The creatures of nature had no great love for the betrayers. Why would they stand so fiercely resolute against them taking one betrayer.

He had nearly decided that it was a sense of pack loyalty, or territorial instincts when he felt the touch of Father Silence in his mind.

'He nears the plateau.. he must not reach the heart of darkness. Destroy him, with any means necessary my beautiful darkness...'

The creature shuddered in an approximation of pleasure at the almost erotic sensation in his mind. Whenever their father spoke to him, it was with a seductive sensation he knew not how to define. Death perhaps, is sexy to the damned.

Knowing better than to respond with an affirmation and waste his father's time, the greater darkness sent out a mental command to Leroy. One of the psy-devils created by brother silence.

A rail thin creature with absurdly long arms, and clawed fingers faded into the room. The greater darkness was not fooled though. He knew these creatures had no power to teleport. They simply played with the minds of others.

'Father has decreed death to the betrayer. Use all means necessary to destroy him, every resource. The wolves must be broken, and your fangs must find the jugular of our enemy. Go and do not return without his cold dead heart.' Thought the greater darkness to his minion.

Leroy the psy-devil bowed his head and faded out, a single thought sent towards the greater darkness. 'understood.'

----

Well there we have chapter 13.

Oh and I apologize that I did this, as some of you saw the original chapter 13. I decided to add what I had written for chapter 14 to this, as it made more sense and fleshed out the chapter. Plus I had to fix my insert at the beginning so it at least made some sort of sense. lol.

Fac's means, Fat Ass Civilians. hehe.

I'm sure i'm the only one that will find two soldiers in this situation hilarious, but it was an easy part to right.

There are many questions raised in this chapter, and many answers coming.

Look to the skies true believers! That way I can lift your wallets while you're distracted.


	14. Revelations of the Heart

_Down, down into the deep. Long ago did mother sleep. Softly turning as the world burns to ash. Pandemonium's taint from first unto the last. Man with a gun, man with no heart.. tears bitterly cried unto death from the start._

_-_ Part of the poem 'How things were' reputedly written by The Paladin, not long after the risen came to be.

Chapter 14: Revelations of the Heart.

Chloe finished cooking the mid-day meal and sighed. It had been a week since the 'jerk patrol' as she called them had moved in.

She could remember with vague embarassment, the time when she was so enamored of the American soldier. Unfortunately these particular gentleman had lost much of their lost, along with their manners.

"Hey, is lunch almost ready? First sergeant wants to make sure everyone's fed and ready for training." said corporal Jones as he wandered in. A short man, with a thin build. The naked eye and general disposition of most people would claim that such a man had to be rather weak physically.

That eye and disposition would be wrong of course. All of that whip-thin frame could be put into physical power that most larger men would envy.

Chloe sighed and nodded, "Yeah.. it's done. Though what you people plan on eating tomorrow is beyond me."

The corporal shrugged. "We'll send a few of the soldiers out to get supplies. Probably shoot a few of those deer wandering around out there."

The blond woman blinked and shook her head. Scott wouldn't like that one bit. Despite not hearing from him in several weeks she knew he still lived. She could feel it.

Jones noted her disbelieving look and head tilt. Maybe there was something wrong with the deer out there. He found it hard to believe that none of them had gone hunting the easily captured and overfed creatures.

With no natural predators on their little island, those handful of deer had grown fat and lazy. Best of all, they were used to human beings and wouldn't run at the first sign of someone with a gun.

-------

He'd been walking in darkness for hours uncounted. It felt like days really. Down, down into the bowels of this place. The smell of sulfur and ancient decay clinging to every crack and crevice.

Scott wondered at how he could tolerate it. Still, further he went. He passed along natural stone bridges that crossed lakes of acid. Their cloying fumes attempting to choke what life he might have had out of him.

He would occasionally sing songs at random to keep his spirits up, but constantly remained on guard.

You never knew when some random battle would occur. Certainly he hadn't run into any aggressive mole people, or whatever might live in an underground cavern that for all intents and purposes felt like hell.

It was certainly hot enough now. Even his deadened physical senses could feel the heat. It had been nearly freezing to him on the surface though he barely noticed.

Not until he entered one last chamber though, did he begin to have flashes of familiarity. The pattern of rocks and mold leading to this chamber was very familiar.

He wasn't sure where he'd seen it before, but somehow, he knew it.

As he walked along, natural crystal embedded within the walls began to shine softly against the darkness.

In the center of the chamber he came across the strangest sight yet.

On a small bier, made of wood and covered in living spring flowers reclined a woman so beautiful it nearly made his heart stop. Well, if he was certain his heart did still beat.

She seemed to be unconscious as he approached. For a moment he took in the sight in wonder, attempting to understand why someone so lovely could be laying in a bed of flowers that grew in almost complete darkness.

As he gazed at her, he saw the pale skin, and blueish lips that belied the beauty he'd envisioned a moment before. '_Is she dead..?'_ he asked himself.

He stayed there for a time, absently stroking her hair. Hair that seemed to shimmer and change color in the light. One moment black as a raven's feather, another as blue as the clearest sky.

As he stroked her hair the dim lighting revealed something rather more disturbing to him. This unconscious woman seemed to be crying. Small tender tears leaked slowly from her eyes to track down her face.

After a time a strange tingling sensation filled the back of his neck and he turned around.

Standing there quietly was the ever obvious robed figure. This one though, wielded a scythe in one hand.

Scott spoke up, "What's going on here?"

The robed figure glided towards him and removed its hood. "Hello brother. I have waited for you here. My name.. is Silence."

-------------------

Reject paced around the earthen prison. He didn't understand why he was still down here. Sure, he was assigned as her guard after he mouthed off, but it's not like they truly needed anyone to guard her.

He felt the call go out. All of Father Silence's children were to group and attack the traitorous wolf clan enmasse.

They had dared to aid the betrayer champion, and would pay with their lives. The greater darkness was already working on a way to nullify the father of wolves' abilities.

He glanced over at the sleeping child and for yet another time uncounted he resisted the urge to eat her sweet entrails. A momentary thought crossed his mind that in his former life he never liked 'chittlins' as his grandmother had called them. Strange then, that he did so enjoy their human counterpart now.

Many of his 'brethren' preferred the heart or possibly the kidneys. No, he was a guts and liver abomination himself. Perhaps he simply had a more refined palette?

His thoughts became scattered a moment later as he heard the little girl cry out in her sleep.

Reject wandered over and stared down at her hungrily. He gazed at her nearly at the point of starvation, but when she softly whimpered out, 'Please... don't hurt mommy..' all he did was snort.

It had nothing to do with kindness or concern of course, when he pulled the all too thin burlap sacks she had been given for bedding and blankets around her. A creature of his reputed evil and soul crushing darkness had no use for such silly things as emotion.

He was just keeping those tender entrails warm. Yes, just keeping them warm..

------

Scott gazed at the teenage looking spectre before him and quirked an eyebrow. What the hell...?

"I see you aren't aware of who I am. Though, I'm shocked that you haven't heard of me..." said the teenaged incarnation of death itself.

The man's mind whirled for a moment, but as quick as though, heh, he finally seized on his weird dreams. "Brother Silence..?"

The gothic seeming spirit smiled slightly and nodded, "What's left of me anyway."

Scott frowned his brows knitting tightly.

"I see you want to know the truth, of.. of everything. It's time you knew." stated the robed primordial force of crossing over.

"That.. would be nice..." said Scott softly.

Silence sighed and glided over the the sleeping woman, before bending down and placing a tender kiss upon her forehead.

"This is our mother. This cavern, the womb of life. All life in the garden began here, when mother and father joined." said the spirit, as though recounting memory rather than mythology.

Scott quirked his eyebrow again. He did that often it seemed. '_Our.. mother? What's this crazy death guy on about?'_

"Not as crazy as you think, though sadly.. I am quite insane." stated Silence softly, not yet having turned back to face the naked man.

As Scott attempted to grasp whatever the hell that meant, not quite realizing that the robed figure had read his mind. Silence continued. "You've seen the prison father crafted for our brother have you not?"

Scott's mind snapped back to the corroded seeming door he had tried forget seeing earlier, so long ago it seemed.

It had been made all of what seemed to be iron. It's lock badly corroded by time. Through the barred window he had seen.. things. Zombies, winged shadows that screeched in the air.

He'd seen things that looked to be made entirely of black flame, or black viscous liquid.

Off in the distance a great city made of gold. He had even seen a giant. A man in black armor darker than midnight, with platinum hair sitting upon a throne seemingly made of human bone. That giant man would have given Godzilla the shakes, from the size of him.

Scott wondered, now that he had recalled this bit of memory, how he could have ever let that horrific image fade from his mind. Another idle thought crossed his mind to find out when random things like hell and death personified showing up in his daily life had become relatively normal. Well, normal for him at least.

"You forgot simply because you were meant to. In time all you'll recall is the door itself. No one is meant to remember what they see in Pandemonium Brother." said the anthropomorphic personification of the primal force of death.

"Pandemonium..?" asked Scott. Random tidbits of knowledge warred inside his head. Something about that reminded him of hell. "Wasn't that supposed to be like the capital city or something of hell? I remembered reading that in my occult days."

"Actually, you're almost right. Pandemonium is pretty much 'all demons' or rather, 'place of all demons. I prefer to call it land of the fallen, but that's just me." informed the spectre with a tired sigh.

Scott nodded, "Right.. so.. what does that have to do with anything?"

Silence turned to him, "That is the prison meant to house our eldest brother. Brother Perfect. I'm surprised you have forgotten all of this."

The naked man scrunched his eyebrows together and tilted his head to the side. "Why would I know this..?" '_Not to mention why do you keep calling me brother...'_,Thought Scott.

"Because, brother, you are that which stands between death and despair. You are the bridge back to better days. It is through you that people find their way to live in an imperfect world."

Scott was not terribly impressed with this answer. "Seriously.. can you cut the riddles and shit? I'm naked, i'm hot, and i'm talking to what looks like an anthropomorphic personification of death.. as a teenager."

Silence sighed softly and nodded, "Very well. You are Mother and Father's final child. You are hope. That which does not die."

The naked man stared at the obviously insane spectre incredulously. "What exactly have you been smoking robe boy..?"

"I see.. this is unfortunate, as quite literally you are the last and only hope we all have to stop me." said Silence sadly.

"Stop you..?" Scott asked curiously.

Silence nodded, "Yes, currently i'm laying waste to the last of humanity. My children tearing their flesh and corrupting their spirits."

"WHAT..?!" snapped Scott.

The teenaged spectre nodded, "Sadly it is so. Brother Perfect's taint corrupted me slowly as it has all things. When mother began to grow sick due to the usage of stellar power on the earth's surface, part of me fissioned off and went on a rampage. The results are as you see them. The dead do not seem to enjoy staying dead."

Scott resisted every homicidal urge inside him to ask, "Stellar power..?"

"You would know it as 'nuclear technology.'" stated the eons old teenaged spectre.

The barely restrained man slowly allowed his rage to settle. If what 'Silence' said was true, then humanity had brought this on themselves at least partially.

"Yes, but only in part. Brother perfect used the technology to poison mother in an attempt to break free. Already his cell door grows corroded and weakens." said the primal spirit of death.

"How..?" asked Scott.

"It was less the power of 'nuclear technology' itself, so much as her children's inhumanity in its usage. Destroying life with a power that in nature is carefully balanced to 'give' life. All the wars and the blood shed over its power. The lust and greed in the hearts of man. This is the true reason she has sickened." said Death without pausing for a breath or a moment to collect his thoughts.

Death continued, "I saw the ravages that such things did, and the toll it took on mother. Less than a year ago my mind broke, and fissioned off a portion of my essence. It's in some ways similar to multiple personality disorder. I believe that's the term the children use in the current era?"

The naked man nodded, but barely seemed to hear him anymore. His thoughts drawn entirely to the unconscious woman on the bed of flowers.

Scott felt a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. He understood a moment later as a soft whimper escaped from the unconscious woman.

"We're breaking her heart..."

------

Hmm, a short chapter true, but i'm going to stop it there. The next chapter has more revelations, and randomness.

Be sure to hate me with everything you possess.


	15. Borderlands

Always our champion. He was a light in the dark. It was even said that he'd stand up to the almighty himself, if it meant protecting the ones he loved.

Memoirs of Nadir, a devotee of the way of the paladin.

...

Maribeth screamed at the dark figure again as the thick stone needle penetrated the flesh of her arm again, the black ink of her tattoo spreading further. For hours now, the greater darkness had been tattooing a hellish symbol on her while chanting in a language that defied human description.

It was a guttural horrid sound that seemed to be made more for screaming in the primal wastes, than modern America.

With each incantation, the child's cries grew softer, and screams came less often. The tears, however, they remained.

Maribeth cried as she felt her mind slowly slip away, she cried as she could no longer even scream when the pain of her body shifts continued.

_'Soon..soon my pretty little betrayer. It will all be over.'_

...

Chapter 15: Borderlands.

...

Scott stared in confusion at the robed figure before him and quizzically asked, "I have to do 'what' now?"

Silence sighed tiredly and gestured to him with his gloved hand. "You're on the borderlands between life and death, so far gone that no power of the earth can save you. You have to defeat death itself, and truly awaken to your inner reality before you can regain your life."

"Defeat.. death? What so we're going to fight or something..?" asked the man.

Silence shook his head. "You don't get it..and that's unfortunate."

The man who had been the only hope for nearly a dozen people since this sorrowful business had begun shook his own head in response. "Enlighten me?"

"Enlightenment must be found on one's own.. but to help you in your quest I grant you this bit of advice. You must regain what it is that you lost all those months ago.. lost when you were all alone, and had to make that choice." said brother silence, before his form began to fade along with the room itself.

"Wha.. hey! Wait!" snapped the man, instinctively knowing that this was not a good thing.

"Find what was lost..."

Scott muttered to himself as he realized that he was now alone on top of a plateau. It's view was overlooking the lake from before, with a massive throng of dark spirits standing at the docks staring his way.

"What did I loose..?" he asked himself softly.

He pondered this for a while as he replayed his life since the dead began to rise. He could not figure out what if anything he'd lost besides family, friends, a steady job. His old life in general.

"When I was crying, alone and lost..?" he asked himself curiously.

He hadn't cried since..

Scott's eyes widened a bit. "That first day.. after my neighbors tried to eat me.."

He settled on the edge of the plateau, completely unafraid of falling off. He noticed this a moment later and considered that. "I'm afraid of heights, I know I am.."

Yet, he had no fear of falling off. There was no vertigo, no sense of dread. He simply did not concern himself with it. It was like all his fear had been stripped away.

He mused aloud as this thought crossed his mind, "Maybe I lost my fear of heights since I have so many other things to be afraid of."

He considered that a moment and then frowned. "No.. I haven't really been all that afraid, since this whole mess started. Angry? Yes. Annoyed? Constantly. Afraid? No."

He 'hmmed' for a moment and wondered at what that meant. "I've been afraid right? I mean.. i'm constantly fighting.."

The more he thought about it, the more Scott came to realize the truth. He lacked the ability to fear anything anymore.

"Heh, no wonder I get my ass kicked so much." he said loudly. A healthy dose of fear might have saved him from his current fate.

He became aware then of a softly glowing light from behind him.

Scott turned towards this light, then stood up and walked in it's direction. A deep but soothing masculine voice emanated from within it's depths. "Come to me my Son, your journey is finished. There is no more need for struggle and toil."

"Who..?" he asked softly, though he felt he should know the answer.

"Come to me, my hope. Your duty has passed. The life flows from your earthly bonds, and you have no place there any longer."

Scott gazed into the light, and began to see images beyond. Beautiful images of happy children playing in a garden. So free, so happy.

The sheer joy of it made him want to be a part of that, part of those playing children.

Yet, something held him back. His head turned and he gazed across the lake and noticed the milling figures that seemed so tired and alone. "What.. about them?"

"...They can not come hope. They no longer have faith.."

"FAITH?! YOU WOULD LET THOSE POOR BASTARDS STAND THERE MISERABLE AND IN PAIN BECAUSE THEY DON'T BELIEVE IN YOU?!" he snapped angrily to that light.

The light flared brightly and Scott could feel a tremendous force pressing against him. He used every ounce of his strength to push back against this pulsing force, but still found himself being slid back.

Not knowing when to quit, and thoroughly angered to his core Scott snarled, "THEY LOVED YOU! THEY TRUSTED YOU ALL THEIR LIVES AND YOU ABANDON THEM NOW!"

"I can destroy you.. with but a thought.. hope.. do not test me.. Come home.. forget the unworthy, and find peace within me."

Scott gazed at the light, the utter peace and serenity it offered and then with a tired sigh he shook his head. "Fuck that."

The power flared again and this time he was thrown bodily backwards to roll with force to the very edge of the plateau.

He clung for dear life as the rock face itself began to give.

"You try my patience child.. You mock me. You abuse me with your words.. Would your mother care to hear you speak that way? You'd break her heart.." came the voice in a loving tone. Though the love had a definite under-current of anger.

"Would she care to hear you dismiss the ones who need you most.." said Scott as the last of his strength began to flee from his now aching body.

The power began to die down softly, a moment later the voice spoke again. "No..no she would not abandon them, and neither would her son. Hope, my beloved child. How I have missed you."

Scott stared at the light as it slowly dimmed to form first the outline of a man, and then a vague impression of one. Finally an older man with a twinkle in his eye smiled beatifically down at him.

The much younger man gazed at the older one and then snorted, "Geeze pop, always the drama queen."

The father of all creation tilted his head back and laughed heartily at his youngest child and then shook his head.

"Hope, you'll never change will you."

Scott snorted, "I'll change before you will you old goat."

...

Chloe sighed into her soup, her blonde hair slapped listlessly against her forehead. "No."

"Ahh.. c'mon baby.. you know you want it.. when's the last time you had a good fuck?" asked Anderson. He'd been given the task of guarding the kitchen ever since Chloe had put laxatives into the soup. An event which lead to a hilarious, if smelly, few hours that night.

"I said no.." sighed the girl again. What was with this idiot, anyway. He wasn't bad looking, but he smelled like a dead dog, and broke wind every five minutes.

"Leave her alone anderson, she wants me anyway." said Specialist Jenkins as he wandered into the kitchen area to check on his subordinate.

"No.." said chloe softly.

Neither man paid her any mind as they argued about who'd bang her first.

"Scott.." whimered the blonde girl softly, before she layed her head down on her arms and closed her eyes.

"Dude's probably dead you know." said anderson.

"Huh?" came her sluggish reply.

Anderson snorted and unleashed something silent but deadly before replying, "That Scott guy you all keep talking about, like he's the second coming or some shit."

"He's not dead.." muttered the girl tiredly.

Jenkins shook his head at her naievity. There's no way one man could survive several days on his own with no shelter. Not in this world. The woods were thick with wolves and zombies.

Anderson took the bait though and asked, "What's so great about him anyway?"

She shrugged and said, "He saved my life.. all our lives.. none of us would be here if he hadn't come for us."

Jenkins nodded at that. It would make sense that he'd be some kind of hero to these people if he had rescued them all.

"So him and his group came through and picked you up?" asked the private first class.

She shook her head lightly against her arms and mumbled, "No, he always came alone.. he only works alone."

That made the two soldiers blink and then stare at each other. That was something hard to believe, but who knew.

"So, he's some kind of gun slinging bad ass then?" asked Anderson.

She shook her head, "Never seen him fire a gun cept for targets."

Something about that didn't sit right with the specialist and he asked her, "So if he doesn't use guns, what does he use?"

"Whatever he can find. He tends to use his sledgehammer mostly though. It's all he ever seems to need."

The two looked at each other again, sharing an alarmed glance and a slow tingle went down Anderson's spine. They didn't like the sound of that at all. Who uses a sledgehammer when they have all those guns here.

"So, what he does all the supply runs himself too?" asked the specialist. He was curious about that seeing as the others claimed to never leave the island.

Chloe nodded softly, obviously nearly asleep. "Yeah.." she mumbled. "He doesn't want anyone to get killed.. and we'd only slow him down."

"How long is he usually gone" asked Anderson. If he came back soon, there might be issues. Anyone who travels primarily alone and doesn't use a gun could be serious trouble if he snuck in.

"A day or two, sometimes a week or so. He'll be back soon.." said the girl softly into her arms.

It was obvious she hoped the two unwelcome 'guests' would take the hint and leave.

The specialist and the private excused themselves and wandered off to brief their section chief. This would be something everyone needed to know about.

...

Well, there's the latest chapter. It's absurdly short, but I can't help that.

I don't know if i'll be able to write anything else for several months. It's a long story (my real life one that is)

But in a few months i'll be able to finish this story up for you.

I felt you all needed a taste of what's to come.

Feel free to be all, (eww HE wrote something) when you read it.


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